


The Phoenix Queen

by recklesstendencies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27137150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recklesstendencies/pseuds/recklesstendencies
Summary: Aero is a queen blessed with magic of the White Phoenix. Beloved because she is kind and generous, she soon finds that kindness can get her killed in Westeros. She travels to King's Landing as a diplomat in anticipation of King Joffrey's wedding where she meets a fallen knight, a lowly blacksmith, and a lesser lord of a great house. Suddenly, she is torn between what she wants and what is best for her kingdom.
Relationships: Gendry Waters/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. The Foreign Queen

Joffrey scowled and shifted impatiently in his chair. He did not like to be kept waiting. And this woman—this Queen of the West was late. 

He sat with his company, his mother at his right, his betrothed, Margaery Tyrell at his left, and his grandfather, Tywin Lannister, just past that. They were seated under a canopy on a balcony high in the Red Keep. He casually noted that the last time a group gathered here, it was his name day and Sansa Stark had sat at his side on the raised platform. Now she sat at the farthermost chair to his left next to her husband, Tyrion Lannister, uncle to the king. Joffrey gave a derisive snort at the two together. Their marriage provided him endless entertainment and mockery. 

He pulled at the collar of his tunic refusing to accept that perhaps his mother had been right this morning when she suggested the thinner fabric of the green tunic instead of the scarlet one he currently wore with his gold sash. The days were growing shorter, but King’s Landing was as hot as ever and even the breeze from Blackwater Bay could not give relief. 

“Grandfather, remind me when this woman said she was to arrive at the Keep.” 

“Midday, Your Grace.” 

“And are the Eryatheians capable of following time, or does it run differently in the lands to the west?” 

Margaery leaned toward him and placed her hand on his. “It is only just past midday, my love.” 

Joffrey jerked his hand away. “Yes and just past midday is not midday, is it? She’s late. Does a king’s time count for nothing?” 

Tywin Lannister examined a fingernail, bored with his grandson’s insolence. “While the queen’s belatedness is not ideal, it would be in the realm’s best interest if our frustrations were not mentioned. We may have won the North, but there are others that would seek to supplant you, Your Grace. An alliance with Eryatheia can only be in our best interest.” 

Joffrey was only partially listening. His grandfather’s lectures on manners and civility were immensely boring. He was only brought back from letting his mind wander when Ser Meryn Traunt called out. 

“Your Grace, could that be the queen’s company?” 

A small company of people could be seen just inside of the Mud Gate. They all wore heavy woolen black cloaks that hid their faces and carried no banners, but surely this must be the Eryatheians. Joffrey looked, but did not see a palanquin, wheelhouse, or anything that could hold the guest queen. He huffed loudly and sat back in his seat. They were all the way at the bottom of Aegon’s High Hill. It would take them more than half an hour to reach the Red Keep if they were carrying supplies and personal belongings for themselves as well as their queen. 

He was perfectly committed in being quite discontent for the time that it took the queen to reach him. He set his scowl again and went over what he knew of House Vysrane. His grandfather had made him sit in a meeting where they discussed Eryatheia’s imports, exports, ruling family, and a great many other boring details. The Vysrane family took the phrase “Fire and Light” as their house words. Their sigil is a Phoenix and their banner is a red phoenix flying in a black sky though the queen’s personal banner is a white phoenix in a red sky. It never occurred to him to ask why. The Vysrane family has held the throne in Eryatheia for over 2,000 years since Helius Vysrane. They called him Helius the Undaunted. The West calls the Eryatheian queen Aero the Blessed. But in the streets, the people call her The Phoenix Queen. As he wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead, Joffrey silently pondered what name history would bestow upon him. Something gallant, no doubt.   
.  
With any important visitor, rumors spread through the city like a venereal disease. Traders swore that she could breathe fire like a dragon and travelled with a personal spellcaster. But those were just rumors, Joffrey decided. He heard that she was beautiful. Like all of the others, she was beautiful. He found it interesting that when men spoke of women, they were either beautiful, or they were not. It didn’t surprise him that when he heard tell of other royal or highborn families, their daughters were beautiful. After all, if you’re going to have a decoration, it might as well be worth looking at. 

His gaze wandered to his betrothed on his left. Margaery was beautiful. She was educated the way that highborn ladies should be. She adhered to the courtesies expected of her and dressed in a way befitting a lady of her class and wealth. He let his attention travel farther down the row. Sansa was also a lady. But Sansa was scared of everything. Rightfully so, Joffrey mused. A traitor’s daughter should be fearful. He settled back into his chair wondering what kind of woman this queen would be when he noticed the guards turning their attention toward the skies. 

It happened all at once. As more guards began to look up, there were screams of terror. One man bolted from his position and ran, armor clanging all the while, from his post. The Kingsguard, standing underneath the canopy with their king, drew their swords and rushed to meet the foe that they could not yet see. 

.

Jaime Lannister squinted as he looked up. Above him in the sky was the largest horse he had ever seen. But it was flying! He could understand why the men were terrified. Its coat shined black as ink and with a wingspan the length of eight tall men, the beast looked like a small dragon from a distance. Particularly since most of these men had no idea what a dragon even looked like. 

“Hold!” he demanded of his archers as they knocked their arrows. One archer ignored his order and let loose an arrow at the beast’s heart. The great horse tilted to the side and the arrow skimmed over its shoulder with no harm. “I said hold, dammit!” he shouted. 

“From the left!” shouted a voice and only then did he notice that there was someone sitting astride the great black beast. The stranger was clad in black as dark as his mount and with the sheer size of the winged-horse, it was no wonder that he had overlooked the rider. Whether the men heard the stranger or not, they dived out of the way when the horse and its rider turned to glide down to the balcony. It came in at an angle from the South. The horse’s great wingspan lessened as it continued its descent, folding completely by the time it came to a stop mere feet away from where Jaime stood. 

The horse gave a snort and swished its massive tail as it settled into a comfortable standing position. No sooner had the horse stopped then the stranger tossed a leg over the beast’s back and landed gracefully in front of the company. Though the stranger wore trousers, Jaime could now see that there was no mistaking her for a man at this range. 

The helm she wore was the same ink black as her steed and her clothing. It featured a wing on either side made up of long shards of onyx and obsidian layered to give the illusion of depth as it extended from her temple and curved to meet the other wing at the back of her helm. Jaime noticed that aside from the helm, she lacked armor, choosing instead to wear a suit that looked to be layers of thin leather. Black over black over black, all cut out in intricate designs giving it the look of a supple lace that seemed as a second skin as it clung to her. Red and gold embellishments could be seen woven in between the leathers like embers burning in a blackened hearth. Her shoulders bore identical fastenings of red feathers sewn into black cut leather that held a long black cape. The belt that held her sword seemed to be made out of the same red feathers and cut leather as the fastenings of her cape. 

She was tall, Jaime noted. Even without the chunky wedge heel of her black leather boots, she stood almost as tall as him. 

The stranger took a moment to survey her surroundings. Everyone was either too shocked or too afraid to address her as she stood before her winged-horse when the horse itself stood thrice as tall as any man. She brought her hands up to pull the helm from her head and Jaime, who had not yet sheathed his sword moved forward a step, wary. As she removed her helm, a cascade of long raven black hair fell loose down her shoulders and back in gentle waves. Her skin was tanned—typical of the Eryatheian people, but hers also seemed to have something else that made her skin glow like honey in the sun. And even from this distance Jaime couldn’t miss her eyes with flecks of gold that sat like burning embers in pools of blue so bright she matched the sky. On her brow sat a thin gold circlet encrusted with fire opals. 

A crowd had gathered upon hearing the shrieks of the men. They gaped at the sight of the foreign queen. 

“You may put that away, ser,” she said speaking to Jaime and gesturing at the sword he was still holding. “I mean no harm.” 

“Your Grace,” Jaime nodded, sheathing his sword. Even so, he kept his hand on the pommel. This new queen comes from the sky on a great beast and yet she has no protection other than her own sword. Something didn’t seem right to him. 

.

She is beautiful, Joffrey noted with wide eyes. He was, of course, thinking about the winged horse. The queen was decent enough, he supposed, but much less interesting than a flying horse. Her face was too long and her cheekbones too prominent to be truly beautiful. In his opinion, women should be soft with rounded cheeks and delicate sensibilities. They did not carry swords. 

Joffrey stood from his chair and descended from the raised platform toward the foreign queen and her great beast of a horse. He should have stayed in his seat and let his guest come to greet him, but his curiosity overcame his pride. He wanted that winged horse and she was going to give it to him. 

She did not bow when she addressed him. She merely took off her glove and extended her hand to him. “King Joffrey,” she nodded, looking him in the eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Joffrey was taken aback by the turn of events even if he tried desperately not to show it. He put on a smile as his grandfather had told him to do and greeted his guest. 

“Queen Aero of Eryatheia.” He dipped his head slightly not breaking eye contact as he extended his hand. His mother’s words echoed in his mind ‘Anyone who isn’t us is an enemy.’ And you don’t take your eyes off of your enemy. 

“Just Aero, please. I prefer to be called Aero.” She shook Joffrey’s hand instead of letting him kiss her knuckles as was traditional in Westeros. He was unaccustomed to being greeting in such a manner and when she released his hand, he took a moment to size her up. 

Cersei stood from her chair and folded her hands in front of her. “Welcome to King’s Landing, Queen Aero. I hope that you will—“ 

“Your horse. How is it that it has wings?” Joffrey questioned, interrupting his mother and her nonsense formalities. 

“She is one of the Connemarra, a different breed from common horses. I suspect much like the difference in your common wolves and the direwolves of House Stark.” She smiled and gestured to the winged horse as an invitation for Joffrey to get a closer look. 

“I would like one for my stables,” he said, walking around the great horse. His head didn’t even reach the height of the underside of the horse’s belly. It would be difficult to climb onto and he didn’t know how a saddle would work with the horse’s wings, but visions of himself flying over the heads of the peasants and making them fearfully hide in their homes gleefully ran through his thoughts. 

Aero frowned, not bothering to hide her expressions. “The Connemarra is as sacred as the phoenix in Eryatheia. They belong to the land and are owned by no one. Ovid does not belong to me. She is my friend.” She raised her arm above her head to scratch the underside of the horse’s neck affectionately. The winged horse dipped its large black head to nuzzle at her shoulder. “Ask anything else within my power and it is yours, but this is a gift I cannot give you.” 

Joffrey narrowed his eyes at the foreign queen and considered having his guards take the horse to spite her. He was still plotting how to acquire this winged-horse when he heard his grandfather clear his throat. Lord Tywin stood and without a word commanded the attention of the company. “Queen Aero,” he began when he gained everyone’s eyes. 

“Just Aero, please,” she reminded him politely. 

“Aero,” he conceded with a nod. “Would you like to retire to your chambers after such a long journey? We have accommodations for your company, and your …horse will be well taken care of in the king’s stables.” 

The Eryatheian queen shifted her helm from one hip to the other. She had undergone intense learning sessions with her councilors on the major houses of Westeros and the royal family. As she studied the individuals either standing or sitting on the platform in front of her, it was easy to identify them by name. 

“If it wouldn’t be an imposition, Lord Tywin, I would actually like to retrieve my belongings from my ship before I settle in. My men will not need accommodations. They are sea-faring men that usually only venture ashore for supplies or the company of women. They have their own quarters in the ship.” She paused in amusement as she considered the size of a typical stable stall. The great black horse would never fit. “Ovid will be more comfortable in the fields outside of the city, but I am most grateful for your hospitality.” 

“Yes. That will be fine,” Tywin narrowed his eyes, suspicious of why the Eryatheians would allow their queen to sleep in the Red Keep without a guard to protect her. “Your servants will be helping you with your possessions, then?” Tywin was wary. If she didn’t have guards, perhaps she had a great host of servants. 

“I have ten men to help me load a couple of wagons we will rent from the harbor.” 

“You only brought ten men with you?” Cersei asked, shocked at the idea a queen would travel with less than a host of four hundred men. 

Aero turned her attention to the golden-haired queen and felt a smirk at the corner of her mouth. “Eleven, actually. My captain of the ship is the paranoid, ornery sort and he will refuse to leave the ship unattended in a strange port.” 

Joffrey moved to stand beside Aero and looked around only just noticing that something was amiss. “Where is your Queensguard?” 

Aero shrugged at the boy king. “I’ve never particularly cared for the idea of asking people to guard my life at the expense of their own. If someone wants to kill me, I’d rather them not take innocent lives with them.” 

Tywin found the queen’s lack of men more suspicious than if she would have brought an entire garrison. “We were prepared for a much larger number in your group, Queen Aero. Perhaps you would give us the pleasure of hosting you in our smaller dining hall instead of the great hall for dinner. After you have rested, of course.“ 

Aero nodded her consent. “You honor me. Your generosity and welcome is very moving.” 

Cersei swatted away a bug, bored now. She gathered her skirts to step down from the platform and addressed Margaery almost as an afterthought. “Lady Tyrell, would you show Aero to her chambers when she returns with her belongings?” Cersei excelled at conveying any emotion that she wanted with a single glance. The look that Cersei threw over her shoulder at Aero was a challenge. Hear me roar, she thought as she passed into the shadows. The lions will eat her alive. 

Margaery smiled at the young queen. She was hoping for a chance to speak with her away from Lannister ears. Margaery was a chameleon in the way that she adapted to her environment. She extended her hand in greeting the way that she had seen Aero do to Joffrey. “Your Grace, it would be my honor to show you to your chambers. I am Margaery of House Tyrell. Might I walk with you to retrieve your things? My brother can escort us, if you wish.” 

Aero took Margaery’s hand and held it for a moment, reveling in the softness. They were lady’s hands—hands that had never held a sword or been scratched or burned. Aero was suddenly very aware of her own hands, rough from work and weapons training. 

The lack of a Queensguard in her company was unsettling to Jaime. Surely the woman is not so senseless as to come to a kingdom at war without at least two hundred trained swords at her command. He pulled Loras to the side out of the earshot of others. “Something isn’t right. Scope out the ship. Find out what you can,” Jaime commanded. Loras nodded to the eldest Lannister and turned his attention to the ladies. 

Like his sister, Loras smiled brightly. Whether the smile was fake or not, Aero couldn’t tell. “I would, of course, be most pleased to escort you to your ship.” Also like his sister, Loras Tyrell was a master at mimicking civilities and when Aero held out her hand to shake, he dipped into a bow and brought her hand to his lips instead. When he rose, a dangerous smirk curved on his lips. “Loras Tyrell, Your Grace.” 

Aero smiled genuinely at his trickery. “Call me Aero.” She shifted her helm to her other hip again and pulled off her left glove, tossing the pair of them casually into the well of her helm. “Your escorting skills are not needed, Ser Loras, but your company would be most welcome. Come, please, and tell me about Highgarden.” 

The three walked together, ignoring River Row and instead taking the narrow side streets. Ovid lazily flew overhead for a while until she saw something in the Kingswood across the bay that caught her eye. Loras allowed Margaery to prattle on about Highgarden as he studied the young queen. The people moved aside, not for him in his expensive silk clothes or for Margaery, their beautiful queen to be. You could see it in their faces; they moved aside for her. They had never seen anything like the warrior woman dressed in black with a sword at her side and a crown on her head. At least not since the days of the Targaryen women. But that was a long time ago. 

With mischief in his mind, Loras took a side street that led beside Littlefinger’s brothel. Littlefinger was among those that greeted Queen Aero at the Red Keep. He wanted to see how she reacted to the bastards and whores and commoners that littered King’s Landing. Margaery treated them kindly and everyone loved her for it. Loras had no patience for them unless they were in his bed. The people loved him as well, though he wasn’t particularly bothered that it was because he could hold a lance instead of a conversation. 

Margaery looked around only just noticing where they were. “Loras?” 

He turned his attention toward his sister, face expressionless. “Hmm?” 

Margaery frowned at her brother. “We were headed down Eel Alley. Why did you turn to come by Lord Baelish’s… establishment?” She linked arms with Aero and began to walk at a quicker pace. 

“I can’t imagine what you mean, sweet sister.” Loras smirked and turned away, leading them forward. “Is this not a shortcut?” 

Aero caught the face that Margaery made at him behind his back. It very much reminded her of the ugly faces she made at her brothers when they annoyed her. 

Her advisors were very interested in Lord Petyr Baelish, so much so that they spent a great deal of time explaining to her both his character and his hobbies. Terribly cunning with a smile that knows all your secrets, they had said. She knew that in addition to the kings Small Council, he was also the proprietor of a local brothel. 

Women leaned seductively in doorways and out of the upper windows. Some were beautiful, some plain, some exotic, but they all took notice when Ser Loras passed by. Aero wasn’t even slightly scandalized at the detour. On the contrary, stared at the women in their too-thin silk dresses. They intrigued her. They had dreams and needs the same as her. She often reflected on the circumstances of her birth—how things could have been terribly different if she had been born into a family other than her own. 

One of the women with dark auburn hair and a very well-endowed chest winked at Aero. Aero’s face reddened but she did not turn away. Instead, her attention was pulled toward a young woman the red dust that seemed to cover the city from the steps of the brothel. Aero stopped when she saw that the young women had a black eye and bruise that covered half of her face. She pulled away from Margaery and walked straight for the girl who was hurriedly attempting to use her long blond hair to cover the blotched purple and black skin. The young woman was uncommonly beautiful with small delicate features that stood out even with the horrendous bruise on her face. 

“Your Grace,” the girl dipped into a low curtsy as Aero approached her. Aero took the girl’s hands and pulled her up, brushing the hair away from the girl’s face. 

“What’s your name, sweet girl?” Aero questioned. 

“Aribet,” the girl answered meekly. “But everyone calls me Bet.” 

“A client did this to you?” 

Bet wouldn’t look up to meet Aero’s eyes. She kept her face downcast and nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.” 

Aero cupped the girl’s jaw lightly in her hand and pulled her face upward. The bruise ran deep. And it was fresh. There were still pink patches that had yet to darken. Aero cursed under her breath and Bet’s eyes widened, unsure of what to do. Without warning, the queen cupped the other side of the girl’s jaw and leaned in to give the girl a quick kiss on her ruined cheek. She flinched. The kiss had obviously hurt the young woman, but just as she recovered from the pain, the colors in Bet’s face began to move. The purples, blacks, and pinks moved like dye in water across her cheek to meet at the spot where Aero’s lips had touched the skin. For a moment it looked as though the girl had a purple lip print on the side of her face, but it began to fade into her skin and when Bet reached up to rub at her cheek, she found that her bruise had gone. 

“Be well, Bet.” Aero leaned down to kiss the young woman on the forehead this time. She pulled away leaving the girl still with her palm pressed to her cheek. Reaching out to Margaery, Aero found Margaery’s hand and linked fingers with the shocked Tyrell. She pulled Margaery with her, continuing down the road as Loras looked from Aero to Bet, and then back to Aero again. It was impossible, and yet he had seen it with his own eyes. The Phoenix Queen just healed a whore.


	2. The Kingslayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far back as the legends go, the ivory phoenix has always been the alpha. It's never happened before. And instead of a feather…" she paused and let go of his arm so that she could turn her back to him. She pulled her long black hair to the side and he was surprised to see the thin whorls just beneath her skin—only a few shades paler than her natural color. They looked like scars but were too exact and too beautiful to be made with a blade. The lines twisted and flowed, weaving in and out from the fabric of her dress like a labyrinth that didn't seem to have a beginning or an end. He felt a pull to reach out and run his fingers across the lines to see if they would ripple under his touch, but he refrained.
> 
> "And the marks, are they…" He wanted to ask if they covered her entire body. What a sight that must be.
> 
> "Everywhere?" she finished for him quirking an eyebrow and letting her hair fall back into place. Jaime nodded. "They're faded in places." She pulled back one of her dress sleeves from her wrist to show him how the marks became faded on her forearm and disappeared entirely as they stretched toward her hand. "Hands, feet, and neck, but everywhere else…"

Magic? She couldn't possibly be magic. Could she? Loras bit at his lower lip running the scene over and over in his head. Aero had kissed the girl on the cheek and the girl's bruise had just disappeared. Perhaps she had given the girl some type of potion? Aero's hair had gotten in the way for a moment when she leaned in. That must be it, Loras rationalized. There hadn't been magic in Westeros since the Children of the Forest had gone.

"Pay attention!" growled the oldest of the ship's crewman. Pulled from his thoughts, Loras struggled to heave his share of the chest of Aero's belongings he was carrying into a cart. Loras would have much preferred to just hire some men to load the wagons for them. But when Aero had started to grab some of the chests by herself, he heaved a great sigh because he knew he would look like a spoiled, pampered prat if he didn't also help.

Loras curiously watched the queen hauling another trunk off of her ship with the youngest of her crewmen, laughing at something he was saying. It was easy to see that she had more than a typical relationship with the men. She didn't treat them as subordinates. Instead, she treated them as old friends and they would touch her as if it was nothing to them. When she was distracted talking to Margaery on the dock, one of the men casually tugged at her shoulder to pull her out of the way of a fisherman wheeling in his catch for the day. If a servant had dared do that to Loras, he would have been severely punished.

As it was, Aero had rented small wagons from one of the merchants at the docks along with two mules to pull them up the narrow city streets. She was a strange thing to watch, a crown on her head, a sword at her hip and she was lifting chests beside the crewmen. The only women he had ever seen do any sort of manual labor was servant women. But there she was, a queen towing her own belongings, chuckling at the vulgar language the men on her ship slung at each other as if they weren't in the presence of lords and ladies.

Aero's ship, Serenity, was exactly as she said. Ten men aging from twenty to fifty and the captain of the ship who looked to be in his early thirties manned the ship. They were stout men with muscle built from a life at sea rather than a life swinging swords though they all carried a cutlass at their hip except for one.

Loras' eyes wandered appreciatively over the youngest who carried two hook swords across his back. Eryatheians, for the most part, were similar in complexion to the Dornish with most of them featuring brown hair and brown eyes. The young crewman, named Evann, curiously had blond hair, deep tanned skin, and green eyes the color of jade. Loras also noted that Evann was taller than the others by at least a hand's length and what the other names of the other men were, Loras couldn't say. He had forgotten them as soon as Aero had said them, though Margaery went through the courtesies of saying hello to each one.

To be so young, the captain had already started showing grey hair at his temples and in his close-cropped auburn beard. As Aero and Loras picked up the last chest of her things, the captain leaned against the deck railings and lit a pipe, eyeing Loras and his pretty sister suspiciously. He didn't trust his queen alone in this city, but she insisted she didn't want a guard. He had argued with her over it for the better part of a week, but the damn woman wouldn't give in.

"Evann!" the captain barked.

"Yes, sir?" the young man was at his side immediately.

"Go ashore with Aero and make sure she gets settled in. I don't care if she threatens to run you through with her sword, if she argues, tell her I told you to stick to her."

Evann gave him a mock salute "I was planning on it anyway, Cap. But I'm sure she'll be happy to know you're so quick to dismiss her orders." A slow smile slid up the side of his face.

"Count your stars you're not one of my crew, boy. I've had men keelhauled for less." The captain gave an easy laugh and pushed the young man just hard enough to cause him to stumble off balance. Evann chuckled good-naturedly and sauntered down the gangway and onto the dock to stand beside the Lady Margaery. The captain looked across the deck. It wasn't his first time across the Sunset Sea, but it was his first time in King's Landing. About halfway through the Redwyne Straits, they hit a squall that caused some minor damage to the ship. it was nothing that he couldn't fix, though. He'd send the men inland for some supplies. At least the damn horse is gone, he thought. The massive mount had left barrel sized hoof-marks on his deck.

Evann had been so excited to see King's Landing, but now that he was here, he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed. It wasn't what he expected at all. He had always heard stories of the Red Keep—how grand it was with its towers and its throne made from a thousand swords melted and melded with dragon's fire.

Evann had grown up in the Shimmering Stone, Eryatheia's largest castle and home of the Vysrane family for more than a thousand years. The towers and stone were carved from the white mountain upon which it sits. Eryatheia is rich in opal stones. A great amount of white opal was used in the design of the Shimmering Stone and the surrounding city. When the sun hits the opal inlaid against the white stone, the entire city shines a brilliant white. Perhaps it was his own bias, but the Red Keep looked nothing more than a stack of red brick to him. But then there were the dragon skulls rumored to be kept somewhere hidden in the castle; finding those would be a great adventure. As a child, the stories of the Targaryen kings and queens that tamed dragons were always his favorite.

"Will you be accompanying us back to the castle?" the Lady Margaery leaned in to ask. The scent of the oils she wore caught in the wind and enveloped him. He had never known a woman to smell as she did—like sweet perfumes and heaven. He thought about Aero and how she always smelled of flowers and fire.

"I am, my lady. Just until Aero is settled in. I won't stay in the castle."

"You and the others, you call your queen by her name?"

He shrugged. "She insists. And if one of us does slip up and call her Your Majesty or Your Grace, she gets this really sour look on her face like she's debating whether or not to throw something."

"Do you know her quite well?" Lady Margaery's mouth had a pleasing way of tilting up slightly on one side. Evann thought it made her seem as though she carried a wealth of secrets.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned casually against a pylon jutting up from the dock deck. "Very well, my lady. We've been friends for as long as I can remember. My family has always worked in the castle and my mother was the royal dressmaker for Aero's mother until she died."

"Until your mother died?" Margaery's hand moved to rest against her heart.

He shook his head. "Aero's mother. Queen Dinara. I don't remember it well; I was barely five. Aero was seven."

"And her father?"

"King Ixion never remarried. He dedicated himself entirely to his kingdom and his children. He tried to make Aero into a lady. That didn't last long. All she wanted to do was play swords, follow her brothers around, and haunt my father's forge in the castle. The king let her, in the end. She's too damn stubborn not to get her way eventually." Evann's eyebrows shot up, realizing he had just cursed in front of the highborn woman. "Oh! Sorry, my lady. I didn't mean to swear."

Margaery laughed and touched his arm reassuringly. "I'm not insulted. My grandmother's language is far worse. Why do you still call her father the king if Aero is queen?"

"It's… complicated," Evann said after a beat. He brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck in nervous habit. "Aero has been Queen Designate since she was blessed by the phoenix as a baby even though she has three older brothers. That's the law. But of course her mother and father would still need to rule until she came of age. When she came of age, she became the reigning monarch. Now King Ixion is more of a steward and a counselor for Aero; he takes over her duties when she is away and he is allowed to keep his title until he passes as it would have been if the throne had passed to the eldest child."

Margaery nodded her understanding though she still had questions she wanted to ask. She would get around to them eventually. Perhaps she would ask Aero when they could sneak away from prying ears. The queen was kinder than she expected, but also more fierce. Margaery longed to be the kind of woman that could protect herself. Cleverness and word like thorns were great weapons, but even they were hardly an advantage against the Lannister's violently cold glares.

Margaery and Evann stood in a comfortable silence for a time and watched Loras and Aero finish loading the wagons.

"You know," Loras huffed helping Aero shove the last of the trunks onto the wagon. We could have hired people to do this for us."

Aero brushed the dirt off of her hands and tilted her head to the side. "My men are paid to help, but that doesn't mean that I don't also do some of the work. A good leader leads by example."

Loras smiled and shook his head at the odd woman. "Queens don't carry boxes."

"Okay. Noted." She gave him a curt nod and turned away to walk back to the ship. Margaery was waiting at the dock with Evann.

Loras quickened his pace to catch up to her. "I'm sorry. Queen Aero, let me explain myself."

Aero stopped suddenly, tugging at Loras' arm to pull him in front of her. He was struck at how close she was to him—how tall she was and how her eyes, pale blue with flecks of gold, met his without blinking. "I'm not offended Ser Loras. I know that customs here are different. I know that women here are different. I know it makes others nervous when I shirk those customs." She smiled mischievously. "Otherwise what would be the point?"

He watched her as she walked away from him, cloak billowing behind her. Everything about her made him curious. Like everyone in King's Landing, he had heard rumors of the Phoenix Queen. The traders like to gossip. With ale on their breath, they would bellow about her sharp face and how her body looked like a man's but with tits. Loras thought this was rather unfair now that he was able to observe her. She was certainly more toned than any woman he had met. Even through the leather, he could see that her muscles, not abnormally large in any way, were strong and defined. She still had a nice curved form and her breasts were a nice size. Other men of Westeros would mock and jeer at how she seemed too much of a man. But that didn't stop them from admitting what they would do to her tight-as-a-bow-string body when they were deep in their cups. As if they would ever get that chance.

He watched as she said goodbye to her men, hugging them as she would a brother. One by one they embraced her, some of them with easy smiles, some of them with worried expressions. They cared deeply for their queen and the foundation for their unwavering loyalty was just another thing that had him fascinated.

They were halfway to the Red Keep, ascending Aegon's High Hill with the loaded wagons. Margaery's laugh carried up the narrow street. Her arm linked with Aero's as they ambled onward up the hill. The queen was easy to get along with, but even with the light conversation, Margaery could sense something that Aero was holding back. She seemed... guarded. Margaery could understand why. King's Landing was no place for an open heart.

"Do you sew?" Margaery questioned running her fingers across the feathered and elaborately embroidered cloak fasteners Aero wore at her shoulders. Behind them Evann let out a resounding 'Ha!' in response.

Aero chuckled at him. Evann knew her well enough that the idea of her trying to sew anything was laughable. She would more likely end up with the needle in her finger than in the fabric. "My matron tried to teach me, but I never was never particularly interested."

"Painting, then?" Margaery persisted.

Aero gave a shrug. "I've never tried."

"Do you play an instrument? Or weave? Garden?"

Aero smiled at the beautiful Lady Tyrell. "I'm terrible at all of those things, I'm afraid." She had missed out on the finer points of being a lady. It didn't help that all of those things also sounded incredibly boring and tedious to learn. "I like to read," Aero offered hoping to find a middle ground. "I write when the inspiration strikes. But mostly, I like to work in my forge."

Margaery looked at the queen, dumbfounded at the idea that anyone, let alone royalty, would actually want to work next to a furnace for hours at a time. "You work in a forge?"

"I don't work in the sense that I get paid, but yes. It is custom that Eryatheian rulers are trained in a trade of their choosing. It teaches respect for hard work and empathy for people that have to work to support their families. My father is a carpenter. I'm told my grandfather was a remarkable chef. And my great-grandfather was a mason. I chose to work with metals, though I suspect my father would have been more comfortable with me learning how to use a needle rather than a hammer."

Margaery continued to stare, still stunned, as Aero pulled on their linked arms to keep them both moving.

"Do you make weapons?" Loras asked from Margaery's right.

Aero nodded. "I do. I began apprenticing with Evann's father in the castle forge when I was about seven. He's Cylix's master blacksmith. Then, when it became clear that my interest was not going to change, my father sought out other notable blacksmiths in Eryatheia. Each one specialized in something different. I even spent three years learning jewelry making from a gold master. If I'm honest, another reason I wanted to come here was because I was hoping to find someone in King's Landing that knows how to work Valyrian steel."

"Tobho Mott!" Loras answered at once. "He's the best in King's Landing and not particularly modest about his accomplishments. When I was getting my tournament armor made, I remember him commenting that he was one of ten men left alive that knows how to work Valyrian steel."

"You're certain?" Aero asked brimming with excitement.

Loras nodded. "I'm certain that is what he said. If he was lying, I can't be sure."

"Where is his shop? Is it on the way?" Margaery's hand rested on the inside of Aero's elbow; distracted with excitement, Aero gripped Margaery's hand tightly. Margaery found the queen's eagerness endearing.

Loras scratched his chin, calculating the distance in his head. They were already almost to the Keep, if they made a detour to Mott's on foot, they would never make it back in time to dine with the Lannisters. "It's about half the city in the opposite direction. But I would be happy to escort you there tomorrow. It's getting late just now."

"Yes! Absolutely. I would very much appreciate it."

Margaery led Aero—who insisted on carrying at least a few of her own things—and more than a dozen of the castle's servants carrying the rest of the queen's belongings to her quarters. "The rooms along the rest of this corridor and the floor below were set aside for your company, but I suppose those are no longer necessary."

Aero set the small black chest she carried on a table and immediately went to the nearest window. The open archway led to a small balcony looking out toward Blackwater Bay. The warm sea breeze reminded her of her room back home in the Shimmering Stone. The room was larger than she expected and connected to a tower that also had windows opened to the West looking across the city.

"Is there anything else you'll be needing?" Margaery asked. She stood just inside the door, hands folded together in front of her. Aero thought Margaery was quite beautiful—her every move was graceful, delicate and deliberate. The only time Aero felt any of these things was when she used her sword.

"No. Thank you. I appreciate your company today. And please tell Loras that his company was cherished as well." Loras had gone with the servants, no doubt to prepare for dinner also.

Margaery smiled sweetly and began to back away, out into the hall. "I will tell him. Dinner is typically served at sundown. Someone should be up to escort you before then." Margaery closed the door softly behind her and Aero let out the breath she was holding for what felt like hours. She took a moment to unfasten the cloak from her shoulders and removed her sword and its scabbard from the belt at her waist.

"Nice comfy beds, these," Evann called from where he had thrown himself down onto what Aero was sure would be a soft feather mattress.

"Changed your mind about staying in the castle, then?" she called back setting her sword on the table next to the small black chest.

"Maybe I'll just take the mattress with me when I go. They won't notice that, right? One of the Eryatheians looting the bedding."

She rolled her eyes at her best friend and ran to join him, launching herself in the air and landed beside him across the bed. They laughed until their sides hurt and it occurred to Aero that she couldn't be more grateful that Evann had wanted to come with her to Westeros. Knowing that she had an unwavering ally in a strange land comforted her more than he would ever know.

When the laughing had died down, they lay there with content smiles on their faces, enjoying the moment before he had to leave and she had to begin dressing for dinner. Her eyes were closed, but she felt Evann slip his hand into hers, fingers linking together. She smiled softly. To anyone else, their relationship seemed like it was more than friendly. When her mother died, he would sneak into her room, hold her and let her cry even if he was younger and didn't quite understand why she was sad.

His mother, Melaena, had tried separating them after a while. She was worried what King Ixion would say about his daughter, the queen, having a dressmaker's son for a friend, but even at ten years old, Aero stomped her way into his study, looked her father in the eye and told him she was going to be friends with whomever she wanted and there was nothing he could do to stop her. She stomped back out leaving a quite surprised King Ixion speechless. At her coronation on her 16th birthday, her father kissed her forehead and told her that was the moment he knew she was going to be a great queen.

As they grew older, their friendship never wavered. Responsibilities took over where they once had free time to run and play. She would attend her daily lessons with her tutors, and sit in on everyday meetings with her father's councilors—matters that needed his attention. But in the afternoons, she ran free from the indoors and out into the sunlight to find Evann. Where she loved the sky, he loved the earth. He began apprenticing as a landscaper in the Shimmering Stone's gardens when he was old enough. She would kneel beside him, pulling weeds and he would laugh when she would brush the hair out of her eyes and get dirt on her face. Then they would race to the practice yard to spar with her brothers. After dinner, she went to work in the castle forge with Evann's father. Evann would sit and read by the light of the furnace.

Older still, Evann stood among lords, ladies, and foreign royalty to watch his best friend crowned queen of Eryatheia. Even when her time was no longer hers, she made time for him. On rough days when he knew she hadn't eaten anything, he would steal food from the kitchens and barge into her room to demand a picnic in her sunroom. And then there was a month when he had been so sick he could barely get out of bed. She brought him to her room and put all of her obligations on hold to take care of him, daring anyone to bring up the impropriety of having a man in her bed. At night when he would shake with a cold fever, she would let him rest his sweaty head in her lap and she would read to him terrified that he wouldn't survive the night.

Their friendship was easy and unconditional and one of the very few things she was every truly sure of. But they would never be lovers. There were awkward moments when he would become aroused around her as they entered puberty. He would burst into her room on occasions and she would be naked or nearly so. And she would happen upon him masturbating every so often. Innocent moments of genuine curiosity where she would ask him about what he does with his girlfriends. He answered her truthfully. She thought to ask him one day if he was attracted to her. He replied that she was attractive, but the idea of having sex with her made him a little nauseated. She had laughed and hit him with a wooden mallet. He loved her as he had never loved anyone—not with passion, but with fierce loyalty and absolute trust.

He pulled their joined hands up to his chest and let them rest there, rising and falling with his breathing. "I don't want anything to happen to you," he said in a serious tone that she had only ever heard on a few occasions in the years she had known him.

"Nothing is going to happen to me," she huffed, annoyed. They had already had this conversation.

Her eyes were still closed, but she felt Evann release her hand and move toward her. When she opened her eyes, he had turned on his side and had propped himself up on his shoulder looking down at her. He shook his head. "You don't know that. There's no way you could know that."

She moved to prop herself up with her elbows behind her. "Yes I do. I can take care of myself."

He huffed back at her and slid off the bed so he could pace. She knew he only did that when he was nervous. She pulled herself out of the sinfully soft mattress and moved to stand in front of him. His jade eyes narrowed at her almost angrily but he melted when she stepped in to wrap her arms around his waist and press her forehead against his cheek. He was slightly taller and let his arms come around her shoulders.

"Just promise me you'll watch your back," he sighed. "I don't trust any of these people."

"I promise. You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine."

He cupped the back of her neck in his hand and kissed her forehead before he left. After he had gone, she had never felt more alone but she wouldn't call him back. The sun was slowly sinking in sky and it wouldn't be long before someone came to escort her down to dinner.

Though she didn't have time to bathe, there was a basin filled with fresh water and clean towels lay beside it. She stripped the leathers off of her, the cotton lining on the inside let the leather breathe enough that it was never too hot even in the Eryatheian sun. King's Landing was warmer than she expected, though still cooler than Cylix. Especially as it neared sunset. A breeze wafted in from across the bay sending a chill over her as she rinsed her body with a wet cloth. Feeling clean enough, she dabbed the oil of the blood star flower from her land just behind her ears and rummaged in the chests to find a dress to wear for dinner.

"I've come to escort you to dinner, Your Grace." Jaime knocked on the queen's door and entered. Aero was sitting at her vanity table working at her long hair in the reflective glass mirror. She smiled at him as he entered and with one last look in the glass, she stood to greet him.

"Ser Jaime, please call me Aero." Gone were the layers of leather and the long cape. Instead, she wore a long lace dress that very closely matched the color of her dark honey skin. The long sleeves and neckline were conservative, but the tight fit and no backing was certainly not Westerosi style. She had styled her hair in loose curls that draped over her shoulders and down her back. Her sword was strapped to her left hip, as always, though she traded her black leather belt for a more ornate belt decorated with the same kind of onyx and obsidian shards used to make the wings on the helm she had worn earlier.

Jaime noted that aside from the circlet crown she wore and a couple of small rings, she wore no other jewelry. Cersei would be certain to lavish herself in her most expensive jewels, he thought. If only to make the young queen feel insignificant.

Though her choice of attire was certain to get narrowed glares from Cersei, Aero couldn't bring herself to care. Growing up as she did, the youngest child with three older brothers and no mother, she liked swords and horses and sport. But beautiful dresses made her feel beautiful and after a long day of sweating and swearing, it was nice to put on a dress and feel feminine. Her brothers made fun of her when she liked to dress up. It was Evann's mother who looked after her when her mother had passed. 'If you feel beautiful, you are beautiful,' she always said.

It was at times like these when her deepest insecurities—her lack of femininity being chief among them—made her stomach clench into knots. She felt most comfortable and most at home wearing trousers and men's shirts, but dresses, despite being horrendously difficult to fight in, were elegant in a way she felt like she wasn't most of the time. Her muscles, height, and proclivity for starting fights set her apart from the other women. It had taken her a long time to become comfortable in her own skin and accept that she would never fit the definition of the lithe, pale, domestic Ladies of her court that men fawn over.

She picked up the small black chest from the table and tucked it under her arm to rest at her hip. Jaime offered his arm to her and she took it, resting her hand just below his bicep. They walked silently for a time; the guest quarters were farther away from the king's dining hall than she expected. She had heard that Jaime had lost his sword hand, but even so, he still had an air of dignity and respect about him. He was quiet for a time, and Aero was content to wait until he felt the need to fill the silence. 'Let them talk,' her councilors had advised her. 'Take note of the questions they ask and what they are interested in.'

"Your people call you Aero the Blessed…" Jaime finally broke the quiet as they turned a bend to another hallway. She had the feeling he was taking her on a longer path than was necessary.

Aero nodded. "They do."

"What does that mean?" he asked. "…to be blessed?"

"The legend of the phoenix is older than my family. During the Shadow War, Helius Vysrane, my great grandfather by seventy-five times and the last surviving son of a broken house, climbed the great volcano Duunas to ask the god of fire to grant him light in the darkness. Near the peak, he stumbled upon an odyssey of phoenixes nesting within a cave system in the mountain. He walked through the caves, curious. No one had seen a phoenix in his lifetime or the one before."

"I thought phoenixes flew freely in your land," he interrupted.

"They do now. But only because Helius made it punishable by death to kill one."

Jaime nodded and allowed her to continue. "Helius didn't know that a phoenix could bless a human, but he stayed with them for days, sleeping on the damp cave floors. One morning, Helius was surprised to wake up and find that in the night a phoenix had flown down from its perch to rest its head on his chest. He was more surprised when the phoenix suddenly burst into flames."

She looked up at Jaime and squeezed his arm. "That's how it happens. Each new royal baby is taken to the phoenix caves in hopes of being blessed. But for a phoenix to bless someone is extremely rare because in order to bless a child, the phoenix must give up its own life. When a child is presented and a phoenix chooses to bless it, the phoenix will fly down and lay its head across the child's heart and die. It will burst into flames, but the flames do not harm the child. This is the only time that a phoenix is not reborn from its ashes; it is truly dead. The symbol of the Blessed Ones is a type of birthmark in the shape of a single feather that appears when the phoenix burns." She sighed. "But with me, it was different."

"How was it different?"

"It's different because I was blessed by the ivory phoenix. As far back as the legends go, the ivory phoenix has always been the alpha. It's never happened before. And instead of a feather…" she paused and let go of his arm so that she could turn her back to him. She pulled her long black hair to the side and he was surprised to see the thin whorls just beneath her skin—only a few shades paler than her natural color. They looked like scars but were too exact and too beautiful to be made with a blade. The lines twisted and flowed, weaving in and out from the fabric of her dress like a labyrinth that didn't seem to have a beginning or an end. He felt a pull to reach out and run his fingers across the lines to see if they would ripple under his touch, but he refrained.

"And the marks, are they…" He wanted to ask if they covered her entire body. What a sight that must be.

"Everywhere?" she finished for him quirking an eyebrow and letting her hair fall back into place. Jaime nodded. "They're faded in places." She pulled back one of her dress sleeves from her wrist to show him how the marks became faded on her forearm and disappeared entirely as they stretched toward her hand. "Hands, feet, and neck, but everywhere else…" She let her sentence trail off, certain he would understand without embarrassing them both. Her marks were yet another thing that made her feel self-conscious growing up. Now she accepted them as a part of her as one would a rather large birthmark.

She took his arm again and he carried on, taking her deeper within the castle.

"Why is it special to be blessed?" he asked as they passed rows of torches. "Is it just a title?"

Aero scrunched up her nose, thinking. "There are… advantages to being blessed—gifts that the phoenix gives to the blessed ones, as to what kind of gifts, I'm not certain I'd like to share that just yet. But it's also special because, as I said, it doesn't happen very often. The last Vysrane to be blessed was my ancestor Luthor four hundred years ago. Only a handful of have ever been blessed—six over a period of two thousand years."

"Are they all titled as Blessed Ones?"

"All of the Blessed Ones start out as 'the Blessed' as a sign of respect. They are given their historical title during their rule. Helius was called Helius the Undaunted. He became the patriarch of the Vysrane family and took the phoenix as our symbol. Then there was Vylencia the Brave. The stories say that she rode bare breasted into battle and slew her enemies with a mighty war scythe. Laurent the Large openly accepted men and women into his chambers. He accidentally bedded the wife of a visiting prince thinking that she was a man. Bereck the Odious was a great warrior, but he was terrified of water." Jaime snickered. "And Luthor the Lethal is said to have killed as many as 600 men in his lifetime. My father is called Ixion the Devoted. When my mother passed, he refused to marry again. He commited his time to our country and our family." She paused for a moment. "The future will ultimately decide the title my people give me—my actions, my deeds… if I am a good ruler."

Jaime dipped his head, his blond hair falling in front of his face. "They call me the Kingslayer," he said softly.

Aero had heard the story of Jaime Lannister slaying the Dragon King many times. It was one her father told often. Though her father had used the parable as a warning, she thought that it took a brave man to stand up to a mad king. "You killed Aerys Targaryen."

He gave a great sigh. "I've killed many men. In battle. In the streets. In these halls. Out of fear. Out of duty. Out of pride. Out of anger." He looked straight ahead, a snarl on his lips.

"What do you have to show for it?"

"A lesser man than I had hoped to be." He lifted his golden hand. Aero said nothing. "Have you killed?" he asked her after a few moments.

She nodded once and cast her eyes at her feet. As a ruler, taking a life was a necessary evil. "I have. More than I'd like."

"Do you remember your first?" he questioned, remembering the first time he killed a man. He was sixteen and still a squire eager to prove himself. He cut the head off of an outlaw before the man knew what was happening.

"I was in the kitchens of my home," Aero recalled. "A man had sneaked past the guards to steal food but decided that he wanted the cook's daughter instead. He was raping her when I cut his throat with the knife she had been using to peel potatoes. The blade was dull. I had to press hard into his neck for it to cut the skin. The girl ran away, but I stayed and watched the blood drain out of him. I watched his face turn white as his warm blood pooled around my bare feet. I was nine years."

Jaime shook his head. "Nine is too young."

They turned another bend and she could smell the food coming from just ahead. "My father found me. He heard the screams and he thought it was me. The look on his face—he was terrified. I remember him grabbing me, not caring that I was covered in another man's blood, and he cried. He cried and held me until my brothers came to take me to get cleaned up." Her gut clenched remembering her father's sobs. Jaime couldn't help but stare at her. Nine was much too young. "I stopped being a child that day. I dedicated myself to studying weapons. I poured every ounce of energy I had into training and learning to protect myself, to protect my family and my people."

"Killing is not the same as protecting."

"Sometimes it is. If I'm being truthful, I don't even remember deciding to kill the man. I heard the screams, saw the knife, and just knew that the world would be a better place without him in it. I took the life of a rapist to save an innocent girl. It's not complicated. I know the words the Mad King was shouting before you put a sword to him. You killed a king to save a kingdom. It seems fair enough to me." She shrugged.

He didn't ask how she knew the words the Aerys Targaryen recited over and over like a prayer. Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all. He remembered all those years ago thinking how easily his sword slid into the king's back and the guttural cough as red poured from the king's mouth. _Burn them all._

"Do you think that people can change who they are?" Jaime asked.

Jaime Lannister didn't seem like a man that would show his emotions easily, particularly not to a stranger, but in that moment Aero thought he looked so lost. Like he was caught between expectations and a reality he didn't want. She knew the feeling all too well.

"Yes," she said, earnestly. "Things happen to us—within us. If we don't grow and learn and change, we stand still. Some people change for the better and some for the worse."

Changing wasn't a concept Jaime was all that familiar with. He had known his duty at a young age and even if he defied his father to join the Kingsguard, he always knew his purpose. But now, now he passed every day cursing his hand, cursing Cersei and cursing himself. Brienne sprang into his mind and he contemplated their unlikely friendship. In his heart, he knew he had changed. He just hoped it was for the better.

The hallway passed behind them as they entered the small dining hall. They were the last to arrive.


	3. The Gift

Jaime stood away from the others, the smell of the suckling pig made his stomach growl. As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he wasn’t allowed to eat with his family at formal dinners when it was his duty to protect the king. He watched as they sat around the small but formidable dining table carrying on various conversations. Joffrey was seated at the head of the table and Aero had the honor of sitting opposite him. I’m sure she did think it was an honor to be away from the lecher. Cersei must have thought it would be a slight to sit the queen with Tyrion on her right and Loras on her left, but she looked as though she wasn’t offended in the least. She and Tyrion were discussing Eryatheian wines and ales. 

Throughout, it seemed Aero was happier sitting with his dwarf brother, laughing at what was sure to be some sarcastic quip or obscene witticism. She spoke kindly to Sansa who was seated at Tyrion’s right, and shamelessly flirted with Loras. Young Tommen created a buffer between Cersei and Loras. He would lean in from time to time, asking questions about the types of animals Eryatheia had and expressing his fondness for cats. “We have cats as well,” she told him. “Giant, fat cats that like to roam around the castle and chase the birds!” He giggled delightedly. 

Lord Tywin had taken the seat to Joffrey’s right, next to his daughter. Cersei sat quietly, being talked at by Mace Tyrell sitting across from her. Mace Tyrell was one of the most insufferable bores in all of the Seven Kingdoms and while Cersei smiled politely, Jaime could tell his sister was brooding—not that she tried all that hard to hide it. She ignored the slices of pork on her plate and instead held up her glass for the servants to bring her more wine. She sat back in her chair drinking from the silver chalice and observed the people around her. 

Jaime observed them as well. He took his duties more seriously now that he had lost his hand. He took his time looking over the party. Tyrion’s face was red from wine, but his speech was still quick and clever. The always miserable Sansa pushed the food around on her plate, but did look up at the young queen from time to time. Aero made sure to include her in conversations. Mace Tyrell sat at Sansa’s right and his great bulk caused him to dribble soup onto his expensive silk tunic. Margaery was speaking with Joffrey and Tywin about the tournaments that the crown would be hosting leading up to the wedding. Joffrey promised his wife-to-be that there would be a great deal of bloodshed. At Tywin’s right, Cersei fussed with Tommen’s hair and Tommen was attempting to push her hand away. Loras Tyrell was a privileged young lord that sought glory for his name and cared about little else. But at the moment, he had caught the attention of the young queen with a thrilling tale about how he had his first kill at a sword tourney. Jaime wondered if Aero would share the story of her first kill with the proud young knight as she had with him. 

Moving a step to the right gave Jaime a clear view of Aero. The desserts were now being served and as one of the servants cleared her main course to set down a plate of rich berry pies, she smiled up at the boy and thanked him. Never having been thanked a day in his life, the boy sucked in his breath and nodded with wide eyes at the queen. It was small things like this that made Jaime watch her. Loras had taken him aside when they had all gotten back to the keep and told him everything—from how many men Aero had on her ship, her close relationship with the boy Loras called Evann, carrying her own chests, to healing one of Littlefinger’s whores. The Tyrell had gone back and forth about how the girl had actually been healed, but one phrase resounded in Jaime’s head. “It was like magic,” Loras had said. 

When Jaime asked Varys about the Eryatheian queen, Varys had told him much the same thing as Loras had. Varys briefed them before the queen had arrived. “She is a force,” he had said. Varys gave them details like her beauty, her family, and her proficiency with a sword. Jaime’s eyes narrowed as he remembered her recalling her first kill. The lords of Westeros mocked her, believing that her sword was just for show. He suspected that should she raise her sword against them, they would be unable to change their mind as they would no longer have a head. The thought amused him greatly. 

Varys hadn’t mentioned that Aero traveled without a Queensguard. And when Cersei had asked for more information, Varys sighed and said that many of the traders he talked to were more than a little tight lipped when it came to the Eryatheian queen. Even when bribed. “But there’s one more thing,” Varys had announced. “According to the few sources I have been able to gather, they all say that there is a buzz in Eryatheia about the queen being able to use magic.” Cersei naturally laughed it off. She dismissed it as propaganda and refused to entertain the idea. 

But even so… Jaime wondered. Being blessed by a phoenix has never been heard of in Westeros. Perhaps it could be true. The traders he had questioned certainly believed it. He watched Aero cut the pie with her fork and take a bite, reveling in its sweetness. Her bright eyes were always searching. Always inquisitive. She had a small, straight nose and a small mouth. He caught himself staring at her lips—her cupid’s bow arched perfectly and her bottom lip plumped slightly larger than the top lip. He looked away quickly before someone saw that he was staring. His gaze flitted over to where Cersei was frowning at him. It would seem that his staring hadn’t gone completely unnoticed. 

“King Joffrey!” Aero pushed back from the table and stood. “Your family has been most welcoming, and I would very much like to repay that kindness.” Joffrey sat back in his chair and looked on as Aero pulled a black chest roughly the size of a small cask from where she had tucked it under the table at her feet. It thunked softly against the tablecloth when she set it down. Jaime had to admit he was curious as the others that sat upright in their seats to get a better look. From his position, Jaime could see swaths of fabric resting inside the black velvet lined chest. 

“I have gifts,” she proclaimed, opening the lid. 

“Gifts?” Joffrey asked. He leaned forward in his seat. The chest was formidable, but rather small to hold anything that he might find interesting. “From your homeland?” 

Aero smiled at Joffrey as one would smile at a child asking too many annoying questions. “Some are. Some are not.” 

“The first is for Lord Mace Tyrell.” Aero pulled from the black box a small ball of golden fabric. “I believe you met my father years ago, Lord Mace.” 

Lord Tyrell nodded and laughed so that his belly shook in front of him. “I did. Nice fellow. Terrible card player.” 

“He says much the same about you,” Aero laughed politely. “You lost something in a bet with my father.” Aero rounded the table and unwrapped the gold fabric to present to the man a rather large signet ring made of gold. It was clearly very old and very valuable with a single golden rose on its face. 

Lord Mace stared at it and took it from her gently. He slid the large ring easily onto his equally large finger and held it out in front of him. “This belonged to Harlen Tyrell, the first Tyrell Lord of Highgarden.” He looked up at Aero. “Your father won it from me in a very poor bet on my part. Thank you.” Aero nodded and returned to the chest as Lord Mace adoringly twisted his ring around his finger so that the gold would catch the firelight. 

Aero held a solemn expression as she picked up the next fabric covered gift. She went left this time and planted what appeared to be something heavy wrapped in thick scarlet fabrics in front of Jaime’s father. 

“For The Hand, Tywin Lannister.” Jaime could now see that the fabric she was unfolding in front of his father was actually an old scarlet cloak, ragged with age and wear. Folded inside of it were the remnants of a shattered sword and a large golden hilt encrusted with rubies and engraved with snarling lions. 

“In our histories, it is written that the Grey Lion and his company of four hundred men entered Eryatheia with the intention of trading. When they arrived in port, they drew their swords and attempted to take the city by surprise. They were unsuccessful.” Aero stopped to take a breath and Tywin looked up at her with emotionless eyes. “When our ancestors met in the streets of Cylix, there was a mighty clash. The Grey Lion was overtaken by my great-great-grandfather, Dorian the Vanquisher. The lion’s sword, Sharp Tooth, was shattered. Though his plan failed, he fought with honor, and to my people, there is no greater quality. His life was spared, but his cloak and his broken sword were taken from him. In friendship, I present to you the broken sword and cloak of your great-grandfather Damon Lannister, the Grey Lion.” 

Tywin took a moment to look down at the broken sword in front of him. He ran a finger over one of the shards and pulled back when it sliced his finger. It was still sharp. Never being one to show emotion unless it was anger, Tywin merely nodded and thanked Aero for her gift. She nodded in return knowing that this was the most lively reaction she would get from the Lannister. 

“For Cersei Lannister, Queen Dowager,” Aero continued. “I explained earlier to Ser Loras and Lady Margaery that it is customary for Eryatheian rulers to learn a trade. Because I trained in weaponry like my brothers, I developed an interest in metalworks. The strength needed to forge blades and the care and patience involved in the making of delicate jewelry intrigued me. ” 

From the box, Aero pulled a small swath of black satin no bigger than the palm of her hand. “I give to you a necklace of my own design and make.” She presented the wrapped gift to Cersei with an open hand and the Queen Dowager took it, face as emotionless as her father’s. Cersei unfolded the fabric to find a necklace composed of thin wisps of gold designed to look like vines woven in and out in a pattern no more than two fingers wide. It started out thin and swelled gracefully just where the necklace would hit the collarbone and culminated in a deep V formation that featured a single emerald held in place with what looked like two lions paws on either side. It was the most beautiful thing Cersei had ever seen and while she had many beautiful things, it angered her that something she would value was given to her by someone she hated. It made her hate the young queen even more. 

Cersei had learned how to fake a smile before she had learned to walk. “It is very beautiful. Thank you.” Like Tywin, Aero knew that she should not expect a reaction from Cersei, but it gave her a smug sense of satisfaction to see the woman’s brief expression of power-lust and greed at opening the necklace. That would have to do. 

“For the future queen, Margaery.” Aero smiled genuinely at the young Lady Tyrell. She did not trust the young woman, but her company was never boring. “I knew from a very young age that women are not merely for decoration. I learned to fight, ride, and use a sword the same as my brothers.” Aero pulled from the chest a thin object wrapped in light blue fabric embroidered with golden flowers to give to Margaery. Margaery pulled the fabric back to reveal a slim dagger. Small. Delicate. Dangerous. The shallow rounded hilt was made with chords of yellow and white gold intertwining softly just big enough to fit the palm of a woman’s hand. The sheath was solid white with vines of yellow gold heavy where the hilt met the sheath became less as they extended down the casing. Margaery pulled the hilt away from the sheath to examine the blade. The blade, was steel the color of milk and so smooth it looked like porcelain. 

“I made this dagger special,” Aero explained. “Spells are inlaid into the steel to make it so that it is unbreakable and will never need sharpening. The coloring is an unexpected result from the spelling process, but a welcome mistake. Knowing your kindness, the sheath also holds special healing properties. If you fill the sheath with water and pour it over any nonfatal wound, it will heal the cut.” 

Margaery looked up at the young queen with an expression of wonderment. Never by her knowledge had anyone been given a magical gift in Westeros. And if there were any, they were hidden away to be kept safe. “You have spell casters in your kingdom?” The Lady asked. 

Aero smiled slightly as she returned to the chest. “Only one, my lady.” 

She looked to her right to see Lord Tyrion, stunted in his seat next to his tall wife. He seemed not to notice or care that the servants always moved his glass farther away from him when they refilled his wine. Aero supposed it must be a game they play to keep themselves amused. 

“For you,” Aero smiled at the dwarf. She pulled a large bunch of black woolen fabric from the bottom of the chest and handed it to Tyrion who weighted it in his hands. 

“Is it another dagger?” he asked, still sharp and clever despite his many cups of wine. “I do so love daggers! Oh, tell me it’s not a book.” He made a sour face that made Aero laugh and throw her head back. 

“I’m afraid it is not a book or a dagger,” she chuckled. “Though, I could make a dagger for you, if it pleases you.” 

“No, young queen, I thank you. If I were in need of a dagger, I would only need to pull one from my back.” He lifted his wine and emptied the glass. 

Aero smirked. “With that tongue of yours, I’m surprised you hadn’t been killed long ago.” 

“Not for lack of trying. For a man so slow, I’m not as easily killed as you would expect.” 

“Perhaps you haven’t insulted the right people. When you do, I hope you find this useful.” Aero took the fabric from his hands and in a swift motion, unfurled it, and handed it back to Tyrion to examine. 

As a servant came to fill Tyrion’s wine glass, she noticed that again the servant placed it just out of Tyrion’s reach. Aero reached across the table and pushed it back within reach, making sure to hold eye contact with the servant as she did so. Frightened, the serving girl ducked her head and went back to stand at the wall with the others. It was an act that went unnoticed by Tyrion, but fully noticed by the others in the room. Aero was doubtful anyone else had even suspected the servants’ game with Tyrion before now. Such a man did not deserve such a pernicious sister and indifferent father, Aero thought. 

“Does it make me invisible?” Tyrion asked, still very much unaware that anything unusual had transpired. “I’d love to see that. Or would I be unable to see myself?” 

“Not invisible. More like…” Aero paused a moment to consider her choice of words. “Imperceptible. When you don this cloak, you will still be visible, but people’s glances will wander over you without recognizing what they have seen, even if they are looking for you. I’m told that it’s one of the more interesting spells to have been placed on an object.” 

“You don’t say…” Tyrion ran a hand over the soft fabric. The queen had given him a gift more precious than all the gold in the Seven Kingdoms. 

“A cloak that you can hide in, uncle! Truly a great gift for a coward! A funny joke, indeed, Aero. Well done!” Joffrey laughed cruelly. 

Aero ignored Joffrey and studied the dwarf with his mismatched eyes. She knew a secret that could save him. 

“Tell me, uncle, is the cloak cut short so that you won’t be tripping over the hem? Go on, put it on! Let’s see if the tailors got the length right!” He laughed again and finished his wine, snapping at one of the servants for more. 

Joffrey’s cruel remarks sickened her to her very core. She had never known a family to be so broken as the Lannisters. “I have another gift for you, Lord Tyrion.” She bent down to lean in close to his ear and whispered so that no others could hear. “Tywin Lannister is not your father.” 

Tyrion stared at her in disbelief. It was something he had wished in his deepest of hearts, but something he dare not believed. He was a Lannister, though his father never treated him as such. Wasn’t he? 

Aero leaned back and nodded, reaffirming what she said was true. “On the honor of my house, I swear that what I say is true.” 

In that moment, he trusted her. Somehow, he could feel the truth emanating from her and he just knew that she was real. A rush of emotions ran through Tyrion and a sob escaped from his mouth before he could think better of it. It was a sob of relief and joy. Tyrion leaned back and breathed an audible sigh of relief and blinked back tears before he composed himself. The young queen’s face that had been set in seriousness broke into a smile. He was wrong. This gift was, to him, worth more than all the gold in the world. He smiled to himself, the weight of his father’s disappointment that he had carried for so long lifted from him as if he had lived his entire life in the dark and was suddenly shown the light. 

“Sansa Stark.” Aero’s attention turned from Tyrion to the auburn haired beauty next to him. Still a girl, Sansa had been caught up in this world of deceit and lies for far too long. Aero opened the small swath of grey wool she pulled from the black chest and held up a simple silver chain that held a single teardrop diamond pendant. 

Cersei smirked noting that it was far less exquisite than her own. The eldest Stark daughter looked almost broken, Aero thought. So many broken people to keep a kingdom together. Sansa wore her courtesies like armor. She was ever the definition of a lady. And she deserved so much more. “It is not as elegant as Cersei’s, but it is not meant to be.” Aero rounded behind Sansa to drape the necklace over her head. Sansa pulled her long coppery hair to the side to allow Aero to fasten the clasp at the nape of her neck. 

“It’s beautiful, Your Grace. I will cherish it always.” Sansa politely accepted the gift as a lady would. Sansa felt a pulse of heat radiate from where the stone rested over her heart, but it faded just as quickly as it began. 

Aero took one of Sansa’s hands in hers and knelt beside her. “I want you to understand, Sansa. It is silver. Not gold. Not even white gold. You are a Stark. Gold fades in the Northern sun, but silver shines bright. Gold is malleable and easily bent, scratched, and destroyed, but silver is strong and it will hold tight long after gold has been reforged into something new. And just as Margaery’s dagger has special properties, so does your necklace. As long as you are wearing it, you cannot be harmed.” 

Sansa looked down at her necklace and back up at Aero, confused. “Cannot be harmed? How?” 

Aero ran her fingers through Sansa’s beautiful hair wishing she could do more for the girl. “The necklace is charmed with wards that protect you. If someone seeks to strike you with a sword, the blow will glance away. An arrow will never hit you. The strongest poison will not harm you. It will not, unfortunately, protect you from emotional cruelty.” Aero had to use all of her will power to keep from glancing at Joffrey as she explained. “But as long as you wear this, no person can physically harm you.” 

“The necklace also cannot be taken from you or broken,” she continued. “You may chose to take it off, but the necklace can feel your emotions and it will not allow you to remove it if you are scared, anxious, or forced in any way.” 

“Pardon me, Your Grace, but how can a necklace feel?” Sansa pulled the silver away from her neck, letting the thin silver chain slither between her fingers. 

Aero pulled at the teardrop diamond to show Sansa. “It is the diamond that feels. It has energy in it the same as a heartbeat. The magic that goes into creating the wards to keep you safe gives it life.” 

“And what do you have for the king?” asked Joffrey, growing impatient. 

Aero stood and pressed a kiss to the top of Sansa’s copper hair resisting the urge to sigh at Joffrey. 

“To you, King Joffrey, I give a wish.” She approached Joffrey at the head of the table without first reaching into the chest where the rest of the gifts had been retrieved. He looked at her curiously as she held up her left hand and pulled a single golden band inlaid with black onyx stones from her center finger. 

“A wish?” he asked suspiciously as he extended his arm to take the ring she offered. He inspected it, turning it over in his fingers. It looked like a normal ring to him. 

She nodded. “A wish. Any wish. As long it is made with pure intentions, the ring will grant you any single wish.” 

“What do you mean by pure intentions?” 

“I mean that magic was not created or given to humans from a desire to do bad things. In order for the ring to work, the wish you make must be out of a desire to do good. If you make a wish out of vengeance or with selfish intentions, the ring will disintegrate and fall off. And bear in mind, you only have one wish. If you carry this ring your entire life, it can only be used once.” 

“One wish. Anything I choose? I will think on this. Your gift is greatly appreciated. I thank you, Queen Aero. Truly, you are generous and kind.” In that moment, just for a moment, it was easy to forget that Joffrey was a monster—how manners and civility can hide someone’s true self. It was a lesson Aero was still learning. 

“And Tommen, not to be left out.” She turned to Cersei’s youngest child and he gave her a toothy smile. He hoped he would also get a present, but didn’t want to seem greedy. She pulled a second ring from her finger—an unadorned golden band and placed it in his open palm. 

“Do I get a wish, too?” he asked, turning it over in his fingers. 

Aero knelt down in front of him to take the ring and slide it onto his middle finger. She smiled sweetly at him thinking just how unlike his brother he was. “Actually, this ring is very different. It lets you know when someone is lying to you. Like…” Aero scrunched up her nose trying to think of a lie. “I have a blue baboon for a pet at home in Cylix.” 

Tommen looked down at the ring, surprised. “It turned cold!” 

Aero laughed at his surprise. “That’s what it’s supposed to do. I lied. I don’t actually have blue baboon. And now for a truth. When I was your age, I would put pepper spices in my brothers’ dinner and pretend that they were lying when they said their food was too hot.” Tommen laughed and held up his hand. 

“It’s warm now,” he said excitedly. 

“Cold if someone is lying to you and warm if they are telling the truth. I know it’s not nearly as interesting as a dagger or a wishing ring, but you will have plenty of people that will try to lie to you as you grow older. There will be others that try to take advantage of you. Don’t let them.” Aero winked at him and stood up to close the now empty chest. 

Jaime was slightly disappointed that she had closed the chest without a gift for him. He hadn’t expected anything. But he had hoped that she had thought enough of him to give him a gift as well. Not that she should, truthfully. They had only just met for the first time that day and his first conversation with her was merely two hours ago. There’s no reason that she should have thought of him before she left Eryatheia. Though he did find a little satisfaction in the knowledge that such an insatiable flirt as Ser Loras hadn’t received a gift either. 

“Ser Loras, I would give something to you as well,” Aero expressed to the young Lord. 

Well, damn, Jaime thought. 

“Me, Your Grace?” Ser Loras asked with false astonishment. Then he saw the way she narrowed her eyes at his use of ‘Your Grace’ and he quickly corrected himself. “Aero. Sorry.” 

Aero crossed her arms below her breasts and leaned casually against the edge of the table. “Future goodbrother to the king, you have no need for pretty baubles or deadly blades as I hear you are one of the best fighters in the Seven Kingdoms. You have the finest armor money can buy. And as handsome as any man I have seen.” 

Jaime rolled his eyes and Loras had enough decency to blush. “That is very kind of you to say.” 

“You don’t value things. You value glory,” Aero went on. “What can I give you that a lord of Highgarden cannot obtain for himself? If you were to ask anything of me, anything at all, what would it be?” 

Ser Loras narrowed his eyebrows in concentration, thinking. “Nothing,” he finally decided on. 

“Nothing?” she asked, doubtfully. 

Ser Loras gave her a smirk that seemed to come standard in Highgarden. “Nothing but your friendship.” 

She laughed. “You have my friendship, Ser Loras.” Like his sister, Aero didn’t fully trust Ser Loras. But his company was never without amusement. 

“Then, perhaps a kiss?” he suggested. Loras dipped his head only to look back at the young queen, seduction dancing in his eyes. “If a simple lord of Highgarden were to request a kiss from the Queen of Eryatheia?” 

She laughed again. “Perhaps. We shall see.” 

Resigned to being forgotten and half disgusted with Ser Loras, Jaime looked away. Watching the young knight flirt with every woman he met grew tiresome much too quickly. Jaime thought that Loras might have had the good sense to hold his tongue in the presence of the visiting queen, but it seems that was being too hopeful. 

“Ser Jaime, it would humor me if you told me what they say about me in Westeros.” Aero’s voice brought him out of his thoughts and back into the small dining hall. 

“Your Grace?” he asked, unsure. 

She shrugged and pushed away from where she was leaning on the edge of the table. She shifted her weight to one hip and crossed her arms underneath her breasts again. “Good or bad, I’m not particularly picky.” 

Jaime scoured his memory for anything more that he could remember Varys saying. It was difficult when he paid so little attention to the spider. He shifted his stance to match hers and rested his good hand on his sword out of habit. “They call you The Phoenix Queen,” he began. “The men of Westeros find it unnerving that you wear trousers. You are fair ruler and wildly kind to your people. And they say your kindness is only matched by your skill with a blade. The people of Westeros dismiss the idea as propaganda, however. Ladies in The Seven Kingdoms do not usually learn to use weapons.” The side of Jaime’s mouth twitched up in a smirk recalling his earlier daydream of Aero cutting of the lords’ heads. 

“And?” 

He thought of some of the more outlandish rumors that he had heard in the taverns. Shifty-eyed men deep in their cups would look this way and that and whisper about the queen as if she might overhear them. “The traders say you can sprout wings and often fly about shooting fireballs at those who oppose you. A most fearsome thing to behold.” 

“Truly?” she chuckled, amused. 

“They say you can create fire with a wave of your hand. That you can do magic. That you are magic. Ser Loras believes you healed a whore with a kiss. And then your gifts…” Jaime’s sentence trailed away. 

She nodded, slowly, looking at the floor. “Do you believe I am magic, Ser Jaime? 

“I wouldn’t know, Your Grace,” he evaded. 

Aero took a moment to look him over, eyes lingering on his golden hand before returning to his face. She held his gaze without blinking. “Will you approach me, Jaime Lannister?” 

Jaime looked to his father and King Joffrey, both very interested in what was happening. Under normal circumstances, it would be inappropriate to abandon his post to involve himself in any events while he was supposed to be protecting the king. Tywin gave a nod for Jaime to do as the queen had requested and Jaime moved hesitantly toward her, his white cloak swishing silently behind him. 

He stood in front of her and noticed, not for the first time, how truly blue her eyes were. Like a cloudless sky just before the sun begins to set. She reached out to him, pulling at his golden hand, holding it up and examining it. At first, Jaime tried to pull away, ashamed at being so broken. But he relented and held it out for her to examine. She ran her fingers over the intricate designs cast in the metal until her fingers were tugging and unknotting the buckles that strapped the heavy metal hand to his forearm. 

His stomach clenched when she detached the prosthetic from his arm and laid it aside on the table. Shame filled him when she unwound the wrappings from the stump at his wrist. The ugly scar was still puckered and red where Vargo Hoat had it cut off. He was stupid and reckless. And it had cost him dearly. He didn’t bat an eye at seeing Vargo’s decaying head when he returned to Harrenhal. Even so, he flinched when the queen ran her fingers across the horrid line of skin that had been poorly stitched together where his wrist should be. 

Aero felt pity for the crippled knight, though she would deny it if he ever asked. It would dishonor him to be pitied. And a knight without his sword hand was no knight at all. She tugged at his arm and led him farther away from the table into an open space near a candle stand. He allowed himself to be pulled by her, too deep into whatever she was planning to back away now. 

She took the stump of his arm in both of her hands, her palms warm on his skin. “I am magic, Ser Jaime,” she confessed as she looked up at him through her dark lashes. “This is my gift to you.” 

The fires and candles in the dining hall suddenly went dark. A sense of calm enveloped Jaime, though, in the back of his mind, he knew he should be frightened. He looked down to find that Aero’s palms were glowing gold around the stump of his arm. A swirling, shimmering mist twinkling with light appeared to hover around connection. It lit her face as a candle would until the mist grew bigger and brighter, surrounding them both. Jaime looked around in wonder at the dancing lights. For a moment he considered that he had gone mad—until the pain. Until the horrible, searing pain that itched and burned at his stump of a hand. 

The lighted mist began to swirl around them faster. Faster than a breeze. Faster than fierce storm. He cried out in pain and watched Aero’s black curls dance around her head, gathered in the air by the force of the wind she created. While the light reflected in the fire opals in her golden circlet making the stones appear to smolder amongst the yellow gold. The lights of the mist began to collect at his stump in a glowing frenzy until the outline of a hand had formed between hers. The pain was almost unbearable. Much worse than having the hand cut off. The itching was the worst. He tried again to pull away from Aero but found that he was still unable to move. In a flash, a blinding force of light shone in all directions, emanating from Jaime’s hand. The people looking on turned away, temporarily blinded. And just as sudden, the hall went dark again. The fires returned and slowly everyone regained their sight as their eyes readjusted. 

Cersei was the first to speak. “Jaime! Jaime! Are you harmed?” 

Jaime could not answer. He stared speechlessly at his hand. His new hand that had grown as if by magic. It was magic, he reminded himself though he still couldn’t quite believe it. “By the Gods!” he exclaimed when his voice finally found him. 

Cersei was by his side the instant she could see. She, too, stared at his new hand. She took it in hers, not believing it to be real. But it was. She felt him flex and bunch his hand, testing the dexterity as the others looked on in shock and awe. 

“How is this possible?” he breathed, his voice heavy with disbelief. 

For the first time since the blinding flash, he tore his eyes away from his restored hand to look at the woman who had given him this gift. Aero gave him a sad smile and swayed, slightly as if she were drunk. Her eyes glossed over and as she was reaching for something to hold herself up, her legs collapsed underneath her. Jaime caught her just before she hit the floor, hauling her into his arms. 

“Water,” she begged as Jaime placed her in her chair. Her cheeks were flushed and sweat was beading on her forehead. 

The servant she had thanked earlier was already at his side with a cup of water before Aero had asked for it. Jaime took the cup from the boy and pressed it into Aero’s hands. She downed the cup in two gulps. 

“I’m fine,” she breathed when she had swallowed the last gulp. “I’m fine.” 

“Another,” Jaime demanded handing the cup back to the servant boy. Another servant refilled it from a water pitcher and the boy handed it back to Jaime. Jaime forced the cup into Aero’s hands again. Cersei stood back, hands covering her mouth. She had thought nothing could shock her, jaded as she was. She was wrong. 

“Thank you,” Aero nodded and drank again, this time slower. Margaery was in front of her now, kneeling at the young queen’s knees and pressing a cold cloth to her forehead. 

“Would you like to retire to your chambers, Your Grace?” Margaery asked, concerned. 

“Yes, I think I would.” Aero nodded her head, laughing lightly. “I assure you, I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting something so small to take so much energy. I neglected to consider that I was creating something living out of nothing.” 

Tywin Lannister had drawn his sword when the fires had gone out. He stood, eyes narrowed at the scene, sword still in his hand. The father in him was grateful that his only son—the only son that could carry a sword—had his hand back. Jaime was mostly useless without it. However, the Hand of the King saw a problem. This woman professed friendship. She smiled. She said the right things. She had given gifts to his family. Though, in his case, he felt that the shattered sword was more of a warning than a gift. He knew very well what had happened the last time his family crossed the Sunset Sea. 402 men left Lannisport. Ten men returned. It was a fool’s endeavor, to be honest. A host of the most skilled swordsmen in the kingdoms could not take the city of Cylix with 400 men. The Eryatheians slaughtered 392 Lannister men. And Lannister’s always pay their debts. What debt would be owed to the Phoenix Queen if she decided that she required payment for Jaime’s hand? 

Jaime helped Aero return to her chambers, refusing to allow anyone else to do it. Aero was silent most of the walk and he could see that she was more exhausted than she let on. More than once, they had to stop so that she could catch her breath. He pretended not to notice. For a second—for one blindingly blissful second when her energy surged through him and his hand became real, he felt her soul touch his. He had never believed in souls before. When Cersei chattered on about how she and him were soulmates, he would roll his eyes. He still wasn’t so naïve as to believe that soulmates existed, but he knew that he had a soul. And that was enough for now. 

Later he would ask her if she had felt it, too. Because it was an intimate feeling, touching another’s soul. He didn’t know what his own felt like, but hers felt like a warm breeze in winter—like the sun shining on your face and watching the flowers and trees begin to bud in the springtime. Does she know? he wondered as they reached her door. 

“I can’t- I can’t come up with the words to thank you,” he stuttered, flexing his fingers again and watching the tendons move at the back of his hand. “Words feel so meaningless right now. I hope you’ll forgive me.” 

Aero pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped into the entryway. She stopped just inside the door and turned to face him. “Would you ask me what gift you could give me?” 

“Anything I can give is yours,” he swore, dumbstruck that she could want anything from him. 

She took his new hand in hers, testing the weight and brushing her fingers over his knuckles and down the joints of his fingers. “You owe me nothing. What I have given you is a second chance to become the man you should have been before the people of King’s Landing whispered Kingslayer at your back instead of thanking you for saving them all. Be the light in the darkness, Jaime Lannister. Find what makes you want to be a better person and live the rest of your days fighting for what is good instead of what is commanded.” 

She let go of his hand and turned away, looking back only once to say goodnight before she closed the door behind her. “Goodnight, Queen Aero,” he answered at her closed door in the dimly lit hallway. She heard his heavy footsteps as he walked away, presumably to his own chambers, wherever they may be. 

A cool wind swept in from the open balcony that overlooked Blackwater Bay. She stepped out into the night air and pulled her arms tighter around her. In the distance, she could see a single ship out in water of the bay and knew that it was her ship, Serenity. Evann had promised her that he would leave a candle burning in his window. She saw the small light, even from the top of the castle tower and it made her feel warmer somehow. 

It was a cold land, Westeros, not just in temperature, but the people also felt cold and aloof. The moonless night enveloped the land and the stars shone bright above her. These were the nights her mother lived for. Her heart gave a small heave as she remembered how her mother would sneak into her room late and pull her out of bed. They would climb to the tallest tower in the Shimmering Stone and lie down, heads together, to watch the stars pass over them. 

Aero fixed eyes on the constellation of a winged-woman her mother always called the Valkyrie. The Valkyrie was a legend of her mother’s people in the North of Eryatheia. She said that in the ancient days, the woman, Freyja, was given wings and chosen by the gods to protect the people of Eryatheia. She lived for many hundreds of years, eventually falling in love with a mortal man. She loved him so much that when he fell in battle, she let out such a wail of sorrow that it could be heard across the Sunset Sea. So enraged she was, that she slaughtered her enemies leaving none left alive. She found him, his lungs too full with blood to breathe. He had just enough strength left to wipe away the tear running down her cheek before his body went limp and he died in her arms. She was so overcome with grief, she prayed to the gods to take her life so that he might live. Instead of granting her wish, the gods raised them both up to the sky, immortal, living together among the stars with the constellation of the Lover forever next to the Valkyrie. 

Aero found the star she was looking for, a red light at the center of the Valkyrie that her mother said was Freyja’s heart. 

“Mother,” she called softly into the night air as she had done every night since she was seven. “I made it. I’m in Westeros. It’s exciting to be out of Eryatheia, but now that I’m gone, I worry that I made the wrong choice. The people here… their hearts are frozen. Their eyes are either trying to intimidate me or telling me to run. The king is a vile, cruel boy and his mother is callous and calculating. But I healed two people today. One was a young girl that had been beaten, and the other was the king’s uncle.” Her mind drifted away for just long enough for her body to remind her how exhausted she was. 

She leaned forward to rest her elbows on the balcony railing. “Evann is here with me. I can tell that he doesn’t enjoy being here, though he tries to hide it for my sake. He’s worried something is going to happen to me and he won’t be there to protect me. I know father and the three idiots you birthed before me worry, too. But you don’t need to worry about me. Watch over father and my brothers. I love you.” 

Aero took her time disrobing and pulling on her night clothes, the stiffness in her muscles causing her to wince. In the morning, she would ask someone to help her bring up water so she could take a proper bath. She twisted her long hair into braid over her shoulder and sank down into the soft feather mattress. She was asleep within minutes.


	4. Evann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t you ever think that I won’t kick your ass for even thinking that I would let something so insignificant dictate who I love. If you were the love of my life instead of just a pain in my ass, I would tell my father that I could give a shit about who he expects me to marry. You, who knows me better than anyone in this world, you should know that.”
> 
> Despite the pain, Evann couldn’t help but be charmed by his best friend. He should have known. She would fight with him and for him until the very end. It was only he that let his own bitterness get the better of himself. With a silly, lopsided grin on his face that only seemed to upset her more, he made a deft move and tackled her to the bed, pulling her against his chest. “I love you, too,” he retorted over her squeal of surprise.

The sun was barely beginning to peer over the horizon and Cersei was already in her father’s solar sipping at a glass of wine. She studied the old man, deep in concentration as he sifted through the various letters and maps laid out across his desk. _Cold and discerning_ , she thought. _And yet a coward in so many ways_. People spoke of him as if he were the most powerful person in Westeros. _But they’re wrong. It’s Joffrey that sits on the throne. Tywin Lannister may have won battles for the crown, but it would never rest upon his head. And that’s what makes us different_. _My son sits on the Iron Throne. I have the power. I am not a little girl deigned to obey her father anymore._

Cersei took another sip of wine, continuing to watch her father over the rim of the cup. “Do you believe she is genuine in her efforts at friendship?” she implored after a moment. There was no need to specify about whom she was speaking. Aero Vysrane came into King’s Landing like fierce storm that would no doubt cause a great deal of damage. Cersei had to remind herself that the young queen would be gone after Joffrey’s wedding and with any luck, she would never need to come back to Westeros.

Tywin sat back in his chair and tried to see his only daughter without the bias of a father. Cersei was never stupid. But was vengeful. And emotional. And single-minded to the point of recklessness. “No,” he answered simply.

“She gave Jaime his hand back.”

Tywin scoffed. “Don’t tell me you are so easily swayed.”

Cersei narrowed her eyes at him. “Of course not. What is she playing at, asking for nothing?” She stood, her long dress trailing behind her as she began to pace.

“She hasn’t asked for anything _yet_. Everyone has their own agenda. The time will come when she asks for something we cannot give. But before it does, I have a plan that will assure her allegiance. If it works.” Going back to the scrolls on his desk, he settled on a map of the know lands. Eryatheia sat just across the Sunset Sea—barely and hand’s width away from Lannisport on the elaborate map.

“And what plan is that?” Cersei asked, barely listening to her father when her own thoughts were running wild.

“Jaime will marry her.”

Cersei halted mid stride and stared open-mouthed at her father. “Father. You can’t.” Her chest heaved and she suddenly felt as though she were trying to breathe underwater.

Stoic as ever, Tywin remained unfazed at her reaction. “I can and I will.”

Pushing a stack of creased letters in her direction, he stared down his daughter until she sat down in the chair across from his desk once more. “Eryatheia is rich in gemstones, gold, and silk. They have been trading with Dorne for well over three hundred years, but after the Lannister assault on Cylix, the Vysrane family has refused to deal with Lannisport and King’s Landing during the reign of the Mad King. It was only after Robert became king that Ixion Vysrane sought to extend a hesitant hand in friendship. And with Littlefinger’s propensity to borrow money, the crown is in a great deal of debt to Eryatheia. It is in our best interest to pursue this match.”

Cersei emptied her wine glass, the alcohol making her less fretful though her heart was still beating furiously. “And what of his vows to protect your king?” she inquired with a calmness she did not feel.

“I have already spoken to the High Septon. With a moderate amount of gold to ease his decision, he has agreed to release Jaime of his vows from the Kingsguard. Jaime will sit on the Lord’s Chair at Casterly Rock and he will get Aero Vysrane to marry him.” Quite pleased with himself, Tywin allowed a rare smirk to grace his otherwise passive expression. Cersei thought how odd it was to see the small smile on her father’s face.

“She is queen of her own lands. What makes you think that she would give up her people to live at Casterly Rock under Joffrey’s rule?”

“Women far older and wiser than she have done much more foolish things for love.” Love. He scoffed at the word. He only believed in love when it was used to his advantage. “She falls in love with Jaime. They will be married here. She will be Lady of Casterly Rock and she will give the throne back to her father or her eldest brother, I don’t particularly care which. The point is that we secure an alliance with Eryatheia and the lordship of Casterly Rock remains in Lannister hands. This is about strategy. And seizing an opportunity presented to us.” He brought his finger down another map showing Lannisport and Casterly Rock as he spoke.

“And what if she tries to take him back to Eryatheia?” Cersei asked, having refilled her wine glass and emptied it again already. Her face was now flushed and her words angrier. “What then? I will not let my brother be taken away from us by some whore from across the sea!”

Tywin slammed his fist down on the desk making her jump in her seat. “He is the heir to Casterly Rock and she is a woman! She will do as he commands.”

Now flushed with embarrassment at losing her temper as well as the effects of the alcohol, she asked calmly, “Does Jaime know of this plan?”

Leaning back in his chair without a modicum of concern, Tywin casually examined a fingernail. “I haven’t found it necessary to tell him yet. They seem to have already formed a tentative friendship. And her giving Jaime back his hand will have only strengthened their bond.” His green eyes, the same color as hers looked up at her with a sharp glare that he used to use when she was a small girl. “And you will not tell him.”

Cersei looked down at her lap. There was a long pause where she heard more maps and letters being shuffled around as her lord father continued to plot and scheme as he always did. “She won’t do it, you know,” Cersei whispered. “She’s too wild. You can smell it on her like a wild beast despite her pretty smiles and manners. Even if all your other plans come to fruition, she will never bend the knee. Not to us.” She looked up at her father, defiant. But he remained as impassive as ever. He knew politics and battle strategies. But he knew nothing of the hearts of women. That is how she and Jaime had kept their secret for so long.

“You underestimate your brother," he responded coolly. “I’ve sent him out to escort her into the city today and busied the Tyrell whelp on the tourney grounds. I will hear no more of this.”

Seething and having been thoroughly dismissed, Cersei stood and departed from the room allowing the door to close softly behind her.

.

Aero awoke that morning to the familiar sound of a whetstone being dragged down the edge of a blade. She opened her eyes to see that Evann had let himself into her room and was currently lounging next to her on the bed with his boots kicked off and his back against the headboard. She blinked again at the shrill sound of the blade and whetstone and rolled over, stretching her arms over her head.

“Why do you do this to me?” she yawned, stretching out her sore muscles

“Fun, mostly.”

“I could make you swords that don’t need to be sharpened, you know.” It was an old argument that they had.

“You don’t get to touch my swords. Father made me these swords.” He paused for a moment, setting the whetstone down in his lap and pulled an apple from his pocket. She smiled and caught the apple when he lightly tossed it though they were barely two feet apart. It reminded her of Cylix. Evann was always an early riser whereas Aero liked to take her time getting out of bed. More often than not, he would get tired of waiting on her and go to her room to wake her up. It became a habit at some point over the years.

She sat up with her back against the headboard and kicked the heavy covers off of her without bothering to cover herself in her nightclothes. The simple cotton shirt came down to the middle of her thighs but she smoothed it out anyway as she lazily crossed her ankles. The light whorls on her skin stretched out from the hem and covered her legs disappearing just past her calf muscle. Evann had seen her in her nightshirt so often when he came to wake her up that she rarely bothered to put on her robe anymore.

“Did you go out drinking with some of the guys last night?” Aero asked, biting into the sweet red apple.

“I did,” he responded with an over rehearsed air of nonchalance. He knew where this was leading. 

“Did they find company to keep them happy?”

“Dev did, of course.” Most of the men went back to the ship alone.”

“And you? Did you find a lovely young lady to keep you company?” She hid her smile behind her apple. It worried her sometimes that Evann didn’t seem particularly interested in pursuing romantic relationships. There had been girls that he would sneak around with when he was younger, but as he grew older, his affections for random women had lessened as he had become more infatuated with the idea of having a soulmate.

Evann sighed at her question. This is exactly where he suspected Aero was taking the conversation. “You know I don’t pay for my company.”

She knew he didn’t. He never had. “How are you finding the ladies of King’s Landing?”

“Boring,” he replied without bothering to look up. He tested the edge of the sword and satisfied with the sharpness, he started on the other one. His hook swords were his most prized possession.

“No sparks? None of that love-at-first-sight feeling you’re always going on about?”

He shook his head, continuing to drag the whetstone down the edge of the blade in his lap. “Absolutely nothing. The kind, educated ones seem to either have been already married off or they’re too highborn for the likes of me.”

She huffed, but let the highborn comment slide. When they were young, she didn’t understand what it meant to be a highborn or lowborn. Now she did. Not that it mattered overly much to her. To be perfectly honest, there were many times that she would shirk her responsibilities when her father had important guests visit and she would have dinner with Evann’s family rather than be subjected to smiling dutifully and wishing she were elsewhere.

“And you really believe that when you see the right person you’ll just magically know?” she asked, using her shirt sleeve to wipe the apple juice from around her mouth.

The shriek of the whetstone down metal paused when he looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. “You are the very last person that should dismiss the idea of magic. Love is magic.”

“Magic is magic,” she countered with her mouth full, having taken another bite of the apple. “Love is… I don’t know what love is. Not real love. I love my family. I love my people. I love you. It feels deep and absolute, but it doesn’t feel like magic.” She crossed one arm over her body, underneath her breasts and brought her other hand to rest against the side of her mouth like she always did she was concentrating. After a moment, she turned to him and asked “What do you think?”

Evann shrugged, picking up his whetstone again. “I think it’s more the idea of magic. I’m going to find that girl, and when I find her, that’s it. I’m done.”

“But how do you know? How do you have that kind of certainty that this person is the person you want to be with for the rest of your life instead of the person you’re settling for?” Everything was all too uncertain for her. How was she meant to choose a husband to love for the rest of her life when she didn’t know what love is?

“Have you ever just watched people in love? How they look at each other?” Aero shook her head so Evann continued. “I sometimes notice the way my father looks at my mother. When she’s concentrating on something and not paying attention. He looks at her like she’s the only thing he sees—like she’s the only thing that matters. Like she’s magic.” She had been too young to notice things like that when her mother was alive. But she liked to think that they would still be madly in love. And now that he had pointed it out, Aero remembered subtle things about how the Vicaris interacted with each other—how Ilando would watch Melaena hang clothes up to dry or caress her hair when he thought no one was watching. “And I know you _are_ magic,” Evann reasoned. “I know that. But knowing you has made me believe that magic can mean different things.”

“Like what?” she asked.

Evann shifted himself so that he was facing her on the bed, his swords across his lap. “Like when you’re explaining to me how you make things like the swords that never need sharpening or the necklace you made for the Stark girl. There’s nothing written down. It’s not like there’s a spellbook. You feel it.”

Aero crinkled her nose—another habit she had when she was concentrating. “I think of what I want to accomplish and put my emotions and my heart into it. Then I feel this sort of warmth inside of me that lets me know the magic worked.”

“Exactly. Emotions. Heart. Warmth. All that. Love is magic.” He shrugged with the finality of winning the argument. Aero leaned forward to stretch her arms out toward her toes as Evann sheathed his swords in the baldrick that he carried on his back before adding “But the deal is off if she can’t cook.”

Aero laughed and made an attempt to punch him playfully. She was thwarted by his quick reflexes. He caught her hand easily and pulled her under his arm, her temple resting against his cheekbone. “You are hopeless,” she chided him still chuckling under her breath.

Evann drummed his fingers against his chin. “And obviously if you don’t like her, I’m not going to marry her.”

She pulled away slightly to look up at him. “Really?” she asks, suspiciously.

He shrugged again and sighed. “You’re one of those annoying people that likes to find the good in everyone. If you don’t like her or she doesn’t like you, she’s not worth my time.” He frowned realized what he had just said. “…I’m never getting married am I?”

Aero grimaced and leaned back against him. “Well that will make both of us, then. Father said when I get back, he wants me to meet the son of Lord Enton from the Fire Fields. ‘You have been queen for seven years now,’ she lectured in a deep voice imitating her father. “And in that time, you should have found a husband. Any self respecting queen would be married with heirs by now.’”

Evann laughed at Aero’s perfect impersonation of King Ixion. “You know he only wants what’s best for you. And probably grandchildren since your brothers also seem to be taking their time finding suitable marriages.”

She visibly shuddered. “Could you see me having children with any of the suitors he’s brought to Cylix?”

Evann smirked remembering the lords that King Ixion had brought to Cylix to meet Aero. She had refused all of them. _And rightly so_ , he thought. “I liked that one… what was his name? The guy with the huge arms and chest but he had really small legs? Oh! Or the one that kept confusing the word falconry with fornication. And let’s not forget the one that insisted on taking every meal in his room because he didn’t like to eat in front of people.”

“But there were others that were nice!” she exclaimed. “Lord Telmin was very… He was very intelligent.”

“Oh, yeah. Very intelligent. And also a pompous asshole that started every sentence with ‘Did you know…?’ Is that what you want to hear when he’s on top you?” Evann made a face of disgust at the mere thought. “And then there was that one guy that I had to help pull out of his bathing tub because he had gotten himself suctioned to the bottom somehow. You would have made a great pair.”

“You would never let me settle, would you?”

“Nope” he replied taking what was left her apple and finishing it off. “I’d carry you out of the Great Temple on my shoulder in your wedding dress if I had to.”

She smiled to herself and smoothed her night shirt down her legs again. “I love you.”

He easily tossed the apple across the room into the unused chamber pot next to the fireplace. “You don’t want to marry _me_ , do you?”

They laughed together. It was another old joke. The people that knew them assumed that somehow, someday they would end up together. But they knew better. “Gods, no. But someone like you, definitely.”

Evann’s laugh broke off into bitterness as he pulled his arm from around her and leaned forward, chin in his hand. “Yeah. Someone like me.”

“What?” she sniffed, put off by his sudden change in temperament. “You have a problem with me wanting to marry someone like you?”

“I don’t. But others…” He trailed off and shook his head. “Everyone in Cylix knows you’re my best friend and it’s easy to forget what I am when I live in a castle and I watch you wear fancy dresses and staff that brings us cold water when we’re in the sparring yard. It’s easy to forget that I’m a lowborn. Everywhere I look here, it reminds me.”

Aero’s mouth turned downward into a frown and reached out to touch his shoulder. “I never thought of you as lowborn. I never really cared. I think because we became friends when we were young and it’s only when we grow up that we learn prejudice and hate. Have I ever treated you differently?”

Evann shook his head again. “No. That’s what I mean. I don’t think about it when we’re at home. The staff always set a place for me at your family’s table. Always. It’s always been Evann and Aero. Aero and Evann. When Pyrus found out that I kissed you, he wasn’t even mad. He thought it was gross and told me ‘Eww. You kissed our sister.’ He said ‘ _our_ sister’ like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.” He turned to look at her over his shoulder, but didn’t lean back and allow her to comfort him.

“They’ve always thought of you as a younger brother,” she assured him, her hand still resting on his back. “And you’ve always been one of the people that I care about most. I don’t follow this love-at-first-sight philosophy like you do, but I’d like to think that when I find the person I should be with, I’ll know it. What should it matter if he was born in a castle or a shack if he makes me happy?”

She felt a low rumble in his chest where he was chuckling under his breath. “You think Ixion will let you marry a lowborn?” Evann rolled his eyes and turned away from her again. “You know all the men he’s brought to Cylix have been lords.”

She didn’t respond, but then, she didn’t have to. She had never considered the possibility that her father would be upset with her if she married someone below her class.

“You’re so stupid sometimes, Aer,” he scolded. “Ixion’s not going to let his grandchild have base blood. So he let you be friends with me. So what? But I’m pretty sure he’d change his mind if he thought I was sticking my penis inside of you.”

Before she really realized what she was doing, Aero had already cocked her arm back and punched Evann as hard as she could. The blow caught him on the shoulder and knocked him off of the bed and onto the floor with a dull thud. She peered over the side to find him somewhat dazed and rubbing furiously at the spot she had hit.

“What in the name of the gods did you do that for?” he howled, standing up and glaring at her. They had been in fights before—knockdown, dragout fights that left both of them with plenty of bruises.

He towered over her as he stood at the edge of the bed and looked down at her where she was still sitting. She raised up on her knees where she was still shorter than him, but less so. It didn’t matter. She was angry. She balled her fists up at her side and prepared to hit him again.

“Don’t you ever think that I won’t kick your ass for even thinking that I would let something so insignificant dictate who I love. If you were the love of my life instead of just a pain in my ass, I would tell my father that I could give a shit about who he expects me to marry. You, who knows me better than anyone in this world, you should know that.”

Despite the pain, Evann couldn’t help but be charmed by his best friend. He should have known. She would fight with him and _for_ him until the very end. It was only he that let his own bitterness get the better of himself. With a silly, lopsided grin on his face that only seemed to upset her more, he made a deft move and tackled her to the bed, pulling her against his chest. “I love you, too,” he retorted over her squeal of surprise.

She fought him, of course, cursing and biting all the while. He eventually relented and let her pull away from him with her hair disheveled and her nightshirt scrunched up to her hips. He pulls her into an embrace and she fights against him.

“You complete, unmitigated ass!” she yelled, grabbing the nearest pillow and hitting him in the head with it.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, taking the pillow away from her. “Only my mother is allowed to call me that.”

It was then that one of the servants entered the room. What a sight they must have been. Aero was straddling Evann and laughing maniacally while repeatedly trying to hit him with a pillow. The other pillows and half of the coverings were thrown onto the floor.

They looked up at the intrusion, Aero with a look of determination in her face and Evann was still laughing and trying to subdue her by holding onto her wrists. Aero noticed that the serving woman that entered her room was carrying a steaming pail of water and looked quite surprised to find the foreign queen sitting on top of a young man in only a nightshirt.

The woman, gathering her composure, quickly began apologizing and backing out of the room. “Forgive me, Your Grace! I’ll come back later!”

“It’s fine!” Aero called after her, beckoning for the girl to come in. “Of course it’s fine. Please come back.”

With one last blow to Evann’s head with the pillow, Aero dismounted him where she was sitting on his stomach. She pulled the tossed covers up to her lap to cover her bare legs and sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed while Evann casually propped himself up on one elbow to observe.

The woman looked back and forth from Evann to the young queen, still hesitant.

“Lady Margaery bid us to bring you warm bathwater this morning, Your Grace,” the woman said quietly casting her eyes to the floor. “And to help you with your dressing and hair if you request.”

Switching back to what Evann liked to call her very formal ‘queen personality,’ Aero nodded at the woman. “I would like a hot bath very much. Please tell your lady that she is very thoughtful. And if it’s not too much trouble, I would like a handful of rosemary sprigs to add to my bath.”

“No trouble at all, Your Grace.” The woman curtsied and moved to the round soaking tub made from stone that rose up from the floor with curved steps on one side that sloped gracefully into a shelf on the other half.

Other women attendants moved fluidly in and out of the room filling the bath with steaming water. It seemed they had been warned to take no notice of the blond man in the queen’s bed as they kept their eyes downcast.

Evann made no move to leave when Aero slipped from the bed and told him to close his eyes so she could pull the cotton nightshirt over her head. He did as he was told, not peeking as he would have done in his adolescent years. When they were younger, he was fascinated with the markings on Aero’s skin. He was still, truth be told, but now they had become less of an oddity to be stared at and more of just another interesting thing that made Aero who she is—as absolute as her laugh or her heart.

The women were gone and it was just the two of them again. It sometimes amazed Evann how effortlessly Aero could slip back and forth between being the formal queen to being the Aero he knew—the one that cursed and spit and laughed easily. If was difficult for her to be herself here, he knew, when she was walking amongst the lions and barbed roses. She wore her queen personality like armor in the strange land. He knew very few people of Westeros would ever meet his Aero.

Aero sighed as she sank into the steaming water. One of the women had taken it upon themselves to crush up the rosemary before adding it to her bath and it smelled wonderful. Adding rosemary to a bath was one of her healers old remedies for muscle pain and weakness. She felt the soreness gradually melt away from her muscles. A variety of soaps were laid out for her on the ledge of the tub. She chose the least perfumed from among them, but she still ended up smelling like Alyssum.

She pulled a long cloth from the shelf, using it to dry off and wrap around her body. Evann had moved to the table near the door and was humming an old Eryatheian song that she remembered her mother used to sing to her. The trunks with her dresses in them were littered about the room, and though Evann was far from fashion savvy, Aero asked him to bring her a simple dress as she ducked behind a partition to dress. She heard him shuffling through her things for a moment before he found something suitable. He tossed it over the top of the partition for her to catch and she heard his footsteps and the soft creak of the chair as he sat back down at the table.

“What are your plans for today?” he asked casually. He worried about her. Especially here. Especially when he had other obligations and couldn’t be with her to protect her if she needed it. He smirked to himself thinking how ridiculous the idea was. There wasn’t a soul he could name that was less in need of his protection than Aero. She had bested him at every weapon since they were younglings in the sparring yard with wooden swords. But that still didn’t keep him from worrying. He didn’t know these people. He didn’t trust these people.

“Nothing more than meeting Tobho Mott at his forge, I suppose. But perhaps Ser Loras will show me more of the city.” Aero stepped out from behind the partition in a simple one-shoulder black silk dress. With it only covering one shoulder and leaving her arms bare, she could only imagine the nasty looks she was likely to get from Cersei if she had the misfortune to run into her. She untwisted the knot of hair on the op of her head and let it fall down her back.

“I think I’d like to see the dragon pit,” Evann threw in, once again examining his swords. He was now looking down the length of them for slight scratches and imperfections in the flat of the blade. “Perhaps your Ser Loras would be kind enough to save that particular adventure for another day when I can come with you.”

“He’s not _my_ anything,” she scowled and retrieved her circlet crown from where she had put it on the table last night.

“But he could be,” Evann sang, knowing that it would annoy her.

She only cocked an eyebrow at him. “I think he was looking at you more than he was looking at me.”

Evann perked up in his chair with a slightly confused expression. “You think?”

Aero nodded.

“Huh. He leaned back in his chair and scratched his chin for a bit. “No. He was definitely looking at you, too.” Evann shrugged and leaned back with his hands behind his head. “He seems like the type that would lead someone on and take them to bed and then realize he has too much dignity to court them.”

“Someone like men or women?”

“Either… Both,” Evann decided. “I’m betting on both.”

Aero found her sword still in its scabbard lying in the chair across from Evann.

“If you found a Valyrian steel master here, will we stay longer?” he asked and picked up his other sword to examine for scratches.

Aero belted her sword at her waist and twisted it so that it rested in a comfortable spot on her left hip.

“I don’t know.” She looked down at the only pair of black shoes that she liked because they wedged at the heel like her boots, but unlike her boots, they were easy to slip on. She shook her head. “One thing at a time right now, okay? How do I look?”

Evann’s answer was cut off by a knock at the door where Jaime Lannister had entered the room.

“Ser Jaime,” Aero greeted him with a smile. “I’m surprised at seeing you.”


	5. Singed Silk

Jaime made his way through the twisting corridors of the Red Keep and arrived at Aero’s chambers. The chill in the air that came with the dawn had subsided. The rising sun had chased away the mists from the bay and the city was alive with movement. Gods how he hated it. When he briefed his father with the report Ser Loras had given him, he didn’t expect that Tywin would find it so fascinating. There was something in what he had said that interested his father a great deal, but he couldn’t even begin to guess what it was.

Nevertheless, Jaime was surprised when he received a summons to his father’s solar early in the morning. Ser Loras was meant to accompany Queen Aero to Tobho Mott’s shop today, but Lord Tywin claimed that the boy had been detained and insisted that Jaime escort the queen. Jaime didn’t mind. Between escorting Aero and standing guard next to Joffrey and his obnoxious affinity for proclaiming himself the best at everything, it was not a difficult decision. Though it annoyed him greatly to do what his father told him when it was what he wanted anyway.

He stood outside Aero’s door and adjusted the sword at his waist. The weight of the steel rested on his left hip and it felt good and familiar—like an old friendship.

“If you find a master here, will we stay longer?” Jaime heard a male voice ask from inside the queen’s room. His eyebrows narrowed. He did not expect that she would have male visitors so early.

“I don’t know,” he heard Aero answer. “One thing at a time right now, okay? How do I look?”

Jaime wanted to stand and listen at the door longer, but the servant walking past him in the corridor cleared her throat as she neared him. He recognized the girl as one of Cersei’s spies. With no choice but to knock, he rapped on the heavy wooden door and pushed into the room.

He noticed the boy first. Sitting at the table next to the East window. From Ser Loras’ description, he surmised that this must be the blond man from Aero’s crew that had escorted her with her belongings to the Keep yesterday. Ser Loras had called him a man. To Jaime, he was a boy that looked no older than twenty years.

Jaime, startled at the flash of steel in the boy’s hand, immediately reached for his own sword. It was a moment before he realized that the boy was merely holding the strange swords at an angle to examine the sharpness down the blade. It was a practice that Jaime also did every morning with his own sword.

The boy, not particularly alarmed by the intrusion, looked up from his swords. Seemingly unimpressed with Jaime in his white Kingsguard armor, he turned and began putting the swords away in a leather sheath.

“Ser Jaime.” Aero greeted him with a smile as she moved toward him. The sun shining in at her back from the balcony created a halo around her. “I’m surprised at seeing you. I was waiting for Ser Loras to escort me around the city.”

In such a short time that he didn’t understand himself, Jaime, who was rarely serious about anything, had developed a serious fondness for the young queen. Feelings of any kind made him uncomfortable, particularly when he couldn’t get control over them. He tried in vain to suppress the way his heart began to hammer in his chest and his palms grew sweaty like some awkward, inexperienced youth.

She wore the fire opal encrusted circlet on her brow as she usually did with her long black hair falling in waves around her shoulders and down her back. The black silk dress she wore was simple enough with no embellishments, though the dark fabric only crossed one shoulder leaving the other shoulder and both arms bare. Certainly not Westerosi style at all. More so since the marking she had shown him on her back and forearm were more obvious across her shoulders and down her upper arms. The thick silk cinched at the seams down her sides and pulled the fabric tight across her body and relaxed just where her sword belt lay. Her dresses all seemed to rest low on her hips where her sword would hang. The idea that Aero would make this a requirement in her wardrobe amused him for some reason.

Jaime composed himself and stepped farther into the room. “Ser Loras has been detained at the tournament grounds,” he explained. “I was sent in his stead. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” She smiled at him and held her hand out for him to take so she could pull him to the table where the blond boy sat. Jaime was struck at how casually she took his hand just to walk three steps. The boy stood, pushed his chair flush with the table and fastened the leather straps of the baldric carrying his swords over his shoulders. “Jaime, this is Evann,” Aero freed Jaime’s hand and motioned to the blond that he now saw stood slightly taller than Jaime expected. Evann extended his hand hesitantly and Jaime took it. They shook hands, albeit both distrustful of the other.

“Well, I’m going to head back to the ship.” Evann’s chest heaved with a sigh and turned to face Aero. “The captain sent me to check on you so that I could report back that you did indeed survive the night. I was distracted. Forgive me.” He and Aero shared a smile like a secret and he grasped her by the shoulders to pull her into a hug. “Be safe,” he murmured against her temple before he released the hold on her arms to kiss her on the forehead.

“No trouble,” she promised with a nod.

“Liar,” the boy countered with a chuckle.

Loras had told Jaime of the boy named Evann and his familiarity with the young queen. Even so, he didn’t expect it to be so intimate. He felt a pang of some emotion he didn’t recognize hit him in the stomach.

.

Evann had gone, choosing to take River Row back to the docks. Jaime, on the other hand, escorted Aero down a different street through the center of the city. High upon a hill not very far away, Aero could see where he pointed out the Great Sept of Baelor. Tobho Mott’s shop, he assured her, was just beyond the hill. She loved walking through the city and enjoyed the way children would smile up at her with missing teeth when she would bend down to say hello. They were very curious of the markings on her arms and wanted to touch them. She allowed them to trace the lines up and down her arms and ruffled their hair when Jaime insisted they keep moving. No one had tried to harm the queen yet, but he was still wary of being in the middle of a street so open with so many people.

He took her through the city square and down beside the Guildhall of the Alchemists. He would speak of the people in the city and she would interrupt to ask questions. He explained in as much detail as he could what it meant to be a maester and the studies that went into it as well as what the links on a maester’s chain means. She was never short of questions, asking about the fortification of the city and the crime and the availability of jobs. When there was a lapse in her questions, he decided to ask her about Evann.

“You and the boy?”

“Evann,” she corrected knowing he could only be referring to Evann.

Jaime nodded. “Evann.” There was a brief pause where his chest tightened as he was deciding how to phrase his question without insulting her. “Are you…”

“Having a secret affair?” she supplied before he could finish. He sucked in his breath. But she laughed easily and brushed her shoulder against his companionably. “No. Evann and I grew up almost as siblings. He is my brother in all but blood.”

The tightening in his chest lessened. “He carries odd swords.”

“Hook swords,” she explained. “A nameday present from his father when Evann reached manhood.”

“And what of your weapon?” he asked, his eyes wandering down to her left hip. “You carry it everywhere but no one has seen it.”

Aero quirked an eyebrow. “What makes you think I only carry one weapon?” she asked playfully. “I only pull my sword when I intend to use it. Would you like to see it?”

“Do you intend to use it on me?”

He let her pull her hand from where it rested in the crook of his elbow. She unsheathed her sword from a black scabbard that was decorated to match the line patterns on her body. They had stopped in the middle of the street and various people moved about them continuing on with their day. Some of them noticed Aero’s crown or her dress or the marks on her skin and stared. Others cared nothing about the young queen and the Captain of the Kingsguard in the middle of the street and carried on.

“Not this time,” she replied cheekily, carefully handing the sword to him. “I named it Shadow.” He took the grip in his right hand and held the blade flat across his palm of his left. It was lighter than he expected. He also didn’t expect the blade to be black. It was exceptionally beautiful. The double edged black blade was polished to a high shine and engraved with the same markings as her scabbard and her skin at the shoulder of the blade. The guard was made of the same black steel as the blade, but left purposely unpolished and the sewn black leather of the grip led up to the pommel inlaid with a single rough cut black diamond that protruded from either side of the metal.

Jaime inspected her sword. It was simple but elegant. Testing it, he gave it a few turns and held it outstretched to assess the balance. He almost dropped it when he felt a pulse emanate from the grip. At first, he didn’t realize—didn’t believe that the pulse, like that of a beating heart, could have come from the sword. But the longer he held it, he was certain. His eyebrows drew together and he frowned. 

“You made this.” It was more of a statement than a question. Of course she made it. When he held it, he could feel that it was like holding a piece of her in his hand.

“I did,” she nodded at his statement.

“It doesn’t flame does it?” he asked suspiciously remembering how Thoros would use wildfire to set his sword ablaze in mêlées.

Aero chuckled at his apprehensive expression. “A flaming sword would be absurd. The fire would cauterize a wound.”

He held the sword at arm’s length again. “It’s small,” he noted.

“It not!” she frowned.

“It is! See here.” Jaime pulled his own sword and held it beside hers. Hers was barely a hand’s width shorter than his.

Aero huffed and flicked a loose curl behind her shoulder. “I’ve heard many men tell their ladies ‘It’s not the size that counts, it’s how you use it.’” She plucked her sword from Jaime’s hand and sheathed it as he sheathed his. “I’m sure this must be the case for all manner of _swords_.”

Jaime squinted at the young queen and grinned at her brazen remark. “You are a clever one, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, she tucked her hand back into the crook of his elbow.

Still smiling, he led her forward. Tobho Mott’s shop came into view around the curve of the Street of Steel. The multi leveled shop towered over the other shops around it. With two knights in the shape of a griffin and unicorn carved from stone at the entrance and the heavy double doors with a weirwood and ebony carved hunting scene, Mott had spared no expense in showing that he was the most profitable armorer in King’s Landing. 

They passed through the stone statues and the open doors. Jaime moved aside to let her enter first. Walking into Mott’s shop was like walking into her own forge at home. The shop smelled of leather, burning coal, sweat, and the distinctive scent of super-heated iron. She loved it. She took a moment to close her eyes and breathed in all in.

An older man in a long leather apron appeared wiping his hands with a damp rag. The damp rag did nothing to clean the black soot stains from his hands that had no doubt been there since well before she was born. Jaime greeted Mott as one would an acquaintance. Aero took that time to look around the shop. Swords and various pieces of armor hung from the walls. Some she saw must have been specially commissioned for specific knights or houses as the steel was tinted various colors and house sigils were engraved on some of the breastplates. The floor was flat stone beneath her feet. If it had been any lesser forge, the floor would have been bare earth. The stone was meticulously swept clean of debris and the hearth was burning in back corner of the room between a set of bellows and the water trough just to the right.

The clear ring of a hammer hitting steel resonated out from the center of the room and it drew her eye to a tall, young man with dark hair, soot smeared on his arms, hands, and across one cheek. Tiny burn holes had singed into the front of his protective leather apron and a couple in the thin fabric vest he wore underneath. He hunched his shoulders, bending down to hammer out a piece of steel and she found herself admiring the gleam of sweat over his thickly muscled arms—the strong arms of a blacksmith. She absentmindedly ran her hand over her own arm from her shoulder to her elbow. Her muscles were not nearly as vast as his, but they were strong.

The young man stood upright and examined a piece of what appeared to be the base of a shoulder plate from a suit of armor that he was working on. With the face of dissatisfaction that she often wore herself when she was working in the forge, he bent back down and began to rework the curve of the cusp.

“Queen Aero?”

Jaime brought her attention back to the conversation.

“How might I help you, Your Grace?” asked the old man with a crooked smile.

Aero clasped her hands in front of her. “I was told that you know how to work Valyrian steel.”

Mott nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, Your Grace. The only blacksmith in Westeros that can reforge the metal.”

Aero set her face with a look of determination despite knowing she was likely to be met with criticism. “I would like to learn.”

It didn’t come as a shock that Mott laughed, but it irritated her nonetheless. “Your Grace,” he chuckled. “Please do not take this as an insult, but it takes several years to learn to be an adequate blacksmith and many more to master. I would very much like to help you, but I’m afraid it cannot be learned in so short a time.”

“I am already a master blacksmith.” A smug sense of satisfaction washed over her as she held out her arms and hands to show him her work-hardened palms and the burn marks amid the light whorls that traced down her skin.

It was shocking to her when his face broke out into an even wider crooked smile “Are you truly? What an unexpected surprise!” She expected her statement to be met with disbelief, but she supposed that her arms were proof enough being that some of her scars likely matched his. “As it happens, I was commissioned to make two Valyrian steel blades just days ago. I haven’t yet began to rework the original sword yet. See for yourself.”

Mott turned away for a moment to pull a very long object wrapped in fabric from underneath a nearby table. She and Jaime moved closer as he began to unwrap one of the largest swords she had ever seen. It was wider than the width of her hand and if it still had it’s guard and grip, it would have reached the height of her rib cage. If it had been ordinary steel instead of the lighter Valyrian steel, it would have taken a giant to wield it.

The blade was bare with no superfluous engravings or sigil.

In wonderment, she reached out to run her fingers along the flat of the smoky blade.

An image flashed in her head. Blood. Death. Ruin. Her heart wrenched as she felt the most recent death still fresh in the metal—Ned Stark’s death.

There was a reason why she chose to work with metal. It holds memories the way people do. It comes from the earth and is reborn in fire like the phoenix. She learned when she was a child that she could feel the memories of others. Some were stronger than others. And some like Tywin Lannister have kept memories and thoughts so closely guarded that she couldn’t feel anything at all. It didn’t happen with everyone because every person is different like every sword is different. Newer swords hardly held any memories in them, but Ice had been passed down in House Stark for hundreds of years, though the sword itself was even older than that.

“Ice,” she hissed, disgusted.

“Yes,” the smith sighed sadly. “It’s a travesty to destroy such an amazing historic piece of work. The craftsmanship is unmatched and see the ripple pattern. Steel folded over on itself thousands of times. What a wonder it is.” The smith stared down longingly at the greatsword with his hands on his hips. “And what a shame that such an endeavor would come at a time when I am old can no longer reforge such steel on my own.”

Aero looked up, stunned. “You won’t be reforging the weapons yourself?”

The old man shook his head miserably. “I will oversee. But I’m afraid the brunt of the work will fall to my most gifted apprentice.” He points over his shoulder at the young man she had been observing in the back. “Mastering Valyrian steel is no more difficult than mastering high-carbon steel. Only the technique has been almost forgotten since the Doom of Old Valyria. Only the fire of a dragon can melt the metal completely, but the furnace can burn hot enough to make the steel workable. It is dipped in a specially blended oil instead of water, and because the metal is so pure, it must be folded many more times to retain its strength. It is a very daunting task,” he explained running both his hands over the sword as one would a treasured possession.

She looked over Mott’s shoulder as he gestured to the young man in the back. Their eyes met for a single instant. “That young man, he will be doing most of the work?” she asked. Mott nodded. “I’d like to meet him.”

.

Gendry had looked up from his work for a moment—less than a second at the woman standing in the front of Mott’s shop. It was the crown that caught his eye. Out of all the polished, shiny surfaces of metal in the shop, the gold from the circlet she wore at her brow caught the sunlight. That’s what distracted him. _A highborn lady,_ he thought, fighting to not roll his eyes. _‘A highborn lady that liked to visit the slums and the working people._

He looked back down at the shoulder piece he was working on. No matter how many times he had done this, he always made the curve too sharp the first time. Cursing under his breath, he took up his hammer. But again, he was distracted. His eyes darted upward again and fell upon the sword that the lady was carrying at her hip. It was curious to him. He had never known a highborn lady to carry a sword.

Now fully sidetracked, he looked her over as she was talking to Mott with the Kingslayer at her side. A sick sense of disgust filled his stomach imagining her to be the next Lady of Casterly Rock. A woman that carried a sword didn’t belong with a man that would make her bend to his will. 

Gendry stared at her curiously. She obviously wasn’t from Westeros. She had a wild, exotic air about her and looking at her was like looking at something ethereal. Her arms were defined and her shoulders looked strong and adorned with what he assumed were some type of skin colored tattoos in elegant whirling patterns flowing down her arms. She was mysterious and fit and possessed this otherworldly light that made her skin glow. With her dress and a sword at her side, he had never seen anything like her. Not in this city of cheats and thieves. But he knew it didn’t matter one ounce to him. He would never touch this woman; _could_ never touch this woman.

But there was still a visceral reaction in him that made him want to. He wondered if she had ever had the opportunity to use her sword or if it was merely for decoration. Something about her made him think that it was the former.

Mott was talking to her when her attention turned to him. His gut tightened. She had caught him watching her. He turned away and no sooner had he picked up his hammer to keep working when he heard Mott yell for him.

“Gendry! Put down the hammer, boy. The lady wants a look at you.”

Gendry sighed and let his shoulders slump as he let the hammer fall to the worktable. He barely looked up as he moved into the open entryway off the shop. His eyes kept darting back and forth across the floor worried that maybe the woman had taken offense to his staring.

He stopped when he felt that he was standing beside Mott. He glanced up quickly between the Kingslayer and the woman before returning his eyes to the ground. “Yes, m’lady?” he asked, flustered. He felt the muscle in his jaw tighten.

Mott brought a hand up to hit him in the back of the head. He didn’t flinch. Mott hit him in the back of the head at least once a week. “She is a queen, boy!” Mott growled. “Show respect!”

The muscle in Gendry’s jaw tightened again and he felt his face harden as he continued to stare at the ground. He had been staring at the foreign queen everyone had been gossiping about. He never expected to catch a glimpse of her, let alone see her in Mott’s shop. Queen’s don’t often frequent armorers in King’s Landing. He swallowed a lump in his throat, preparing an apology when she spoke first.

“What’s your name?” she asked. Not harshly. Not even as though she were angry or offended.

“Gendry, Your Grace.” He almost tripped over his words, but he couldn’t bear embarrassing himself further in front of her.

“Look at me,” she ordered. He did. Uncertainly. His eyes slowly drifted upward until he found her face. The queen’s eyes, he saw, were blue like his. Except where his were cold ice, hers were like a warm blue summer sky with flecks of gold. 

When she was satisfied that she had his full attention, she crossed her arms over her chest beneath her breasts and looked him over head to toe once more. “You’re an apprentice?” she asked with slight amusement. He could only be a few years younger than she was. If Tobho Mott was trusting him with the Valyrian steel, he must be near master level.

“Yes,” Gendry responded almost defiantly.

“Weapons or armor?”

“Both.” Gendry began to mirror her posture, crossing his arms across his expansive chest.

“Are you good?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“What type of metal do you work with?” she asked, glancing around the shop for any silver or gold working.

“Mostly iron and steel. I like steel better.”

“Not iron?”

“Steel is harder. It holds an edge better.”

“Iron has a lower melting point and casts more fluidly. Steel is more demanding,” she argued, hoping he would argue back.

“I like the challenge,” he replied with the confidence of a man in his element. She allowed herself a small smile before she fought to control her facial expressions again. She had hoped he would be a little stubborn.

“Who is your family?” she continued.

“Haven’t got a family. I was born a bastard and my mother is dead.”

“An apprenticeship is expensive. How do you afford it?”

“I don’t. Mott lets me apprentice for nothing.”

She glanced away from the young man to his mentor, doubting that the old man had taken on an apprentice with no family for nothing. “Your father?”

Gendry shrugged. “Never met him. Never knew his name.”

“Where do you stay?”

“Upstairs. I watch over the shop. Open up in the mornings. Light the fires.”

“With others?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Just me. The others have families.”

“Do you like it here?”

“I learn my trade. I get fed. That’s really all I need.”

Aero pursed her lips and studied the young man with unabashed eyes. He surprised her. Once he met her eyes, he took on this unapologetic, uncultivated dignity that excited her. If she was to train in Valyrian steel alongside someone, she was relieved that it would be him.

“I would like to watch you work,” she said after a long moment.

Gendry was staggered that the queen would have even a rudimentary understanding of how iron worked. From her questions, he suspected that she knew a great deal more. He nodded his consent and invited her to follow him.

The entryway to the shop caught a breeze every now and then when the doors were open, but in the back with the hearth burning, the open windows did nothing to alleviate the heat.

“Show her some of your work, boy,” Mott barked. The old man turned back to her, his tone changing in that second. “He does fine work. Best in the city, after me of course.” Mott smiled his crooked smile, baring his yellowed, stained teeth.

Gendry thought for a moment wishing that his bull’s head helmet hadn’t been stolen and decided to pull a sword from a rack behind his work table. He had just finished it for the lord of House Byrch. Gently, he handed it grip first to the young queen who lifted it easily though it was made for a man twice her weight. He watched her as she let her fingers trace the fuller down the length of the green tinted blade. Lord Balman had wanted twin axes engraved at the sword’s shoulder just under the smoky grey guard. She examined his engravings for a moment before she took the blade and rested it across her left forearm, looking down the length for imperfections. He smirked. There were no imperfections. Not when he was done. Satisfied with the blade, she twisted the sword in a series of movements he had only seen from experienced swordsmen. The others stepped back, but he stood his ground.

Aero cut the air around her so fluidly that the ash particles floating in the air were hardly disturbed. “This is exceptional work,” she affirmed, handing the sword back to Gendry with the grip in one hand and the blade supported by the other. He took it, not knowing how to say thank you to someone like her.

Jaime had been standing off to the side watching Aero interact with the shop owner and his apprentice. She was impressive in the way she commanded attention without realizing it and how she spoke as easily with the boy as she did with Mott—the way she did with him. She was kind, he realized, not just to those she thought in her class, but to everyone. He thought back to Loras’ tale of how Aero had healed one of Littlefinger’s whores. All his life, his father had told him that kindness is weakness. Looking at Aero, he had never known his father to be more wrong.

While Jaime questioned Mott about the steel tinting process, Aero took the opportunity to pull Gendry away from the two men. She gave him a small smile and inclined her head toward his worktable where he had been working on the armored shoulder piece.

He followed her the few steps over to his work table and watched her pick up the piece he had been scowling over earlier. “Not wide enough?” she asked, her palm running along the unfinished curve of the steel.

He shook his head. “The shoulders and the thighs are always the hardest for me. I make the curve too sharp the first heating. I get it right on the second.”

She turned the steel over in her hands. “You’re getting too focused on making a fluid curve,” she determined. “You can always go back and round it out when you refinish the edges.”

“How do you…” Gendry tried to make sense out of what was happening, but it was just too ridiculous to even consider. Queens aren’t blacksmiths. Of course earlier he made the mistake of thinking that queen don’t frequent blacksmith shops. Clearly, he was wrong.

“I have the other shoulder plate heating,” he smiled.

She returned his smile and nodded. Gendry pulled a pair of tongs from the various hooks bored into the side of his work table and he came back from the hearth with a glowing plate of steel.

It didn’t take long for him to get lost in the work. He was constantly aware of her presence beside him, watching him, but he carried on as he would have if she were not there. He had to work quickly to shape the metal before the steel cooled. Part muscle memory and part concentration, he curled the metal around the anvil head this time focusing less on how controlled the curved edge seemed and more on the width.

He could feel her long hair tickle his left arm as she leaned in closer to watch. He almost had it. It was almost perfect. But when he brought his hammer down to finish out the last few blows he needed to curve the metal just right, a spark spat out from the still red hot plate.

Aero didn’t react to the spark initially. She was used to stray sparks. But when it seared through the thick black silk of her dress and burned into her upper thigh, she let out a small gasp. Before she had time to react to the familiar sting of another minor burn, she felt an arm curl around her waist and hauled her back from the table. Her first thought was Jaime had pulled her away, but then she saw Gendry grab a damp rag from the table and kneel down in front of her furiously dabbing at the singed fabric.

As quickly as he had seen the young smith grab Aero, Jaime had pulled his sword and pointed it at Gendry. “Take your hands off her!” Jaime demanded with a sneer at the boy still on his knees.

Gendry seemed to suddenly realize that his hands were splayed across the queen’s hip and upper thigh while he was trying to douse the spark and the fabric that had been smoldering out into larger hole. “I- I’m sorry,” he stuttered with wide eyes and, jerked his hands away like _he_ had been burned. “I wasn’t thinking, Your Grace.”

“It’s fine!” Aero held her palm out to stop Jaime from advancing on Gendry. “He was only trying to keep me from burning myself! Wearing a dress to a forge, I should know better,” she muttered to herself. “It’s my own damn fault.” She shook her head at her own foolishness. “It’s fine,” she said, softer this time because it was directed at Gendry. He was still kneeling in front of her, wet rag in hand and his eyes back down at the floor. Aero bent down to grasp hold of Gendry’s forearms and pulled him to his feet.

He stood but didn’t pull away, thinking it might be rude. He let her hold onto his arms until she wanted to let go. But she didn’t let go. The way she was gripping his forearms—just below the crook of his elbow—had her elbows resting in his palms. She squeezed his arms tighter causing impressions in his skin with her fingertips. Curiosity made him look up at her.

“Your Grace, I beg your forgiveness,” he breathed, meeting her eyes.

She laughed lightly and finally let go of his arms to rest her hand on his shoulder. “My name is Aero,” she smiled. “And I assure you, there’s no reason for you to apologize for my stupidity.”

She turned away to find a stool and dragged it a few feet away from Gendry’s work table. The men watched her, interested when she sat down and crossed her legs, letting her hands lay in her lap. “If I promise to stay put and not make any more trouble, will you let me watch you work for a while?” she requested of the young smith.

“You’re welcome to observe as long as you like, Your Grace,” Mott interjected.

She smiled politely at the old man and turned back to Gendry. “Is that okay with you?” she asked again.

Brought out of his stunned silence, Gendry nodded. “Yeah. I’m just working with armor for today.” He risked a glance at Mott before returning to her. “Unless you would like to see something different?”

Aero shook her head. “No. Go on with what you were doing. I’ve never had much patience with making armor. Maybe you could change my mind.”

.

“You shouldn’t let him grab you like that. It’s not appropriate,” Jaime chastised in hushed tones while Gendry busied himself reheating the shoulder pieces.

“And you would tell me what I should and should not do?” Aero asked without bothering to look up at him. He was standing next to her eyeing the young blacksmith carefully.

Jaime frowned. “I just mean that he’s a blacksmith and he had his hands all over you.”

“ _I’m_ a blacksmith,” she argued.

“You’re a queen. He’s a bastard.”

Gendry looked over his shoulder and she smiled at him reassuringly before setting her face back into a scowl at Jaime’s words.

“And being a knight is more honorable than being a bastard, is it?” She squared her shoulders and straightened her back, determined not to look at him.

He gently let his hand rest on her shoulder. “He shouldn’t have touched you.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t touch me either,” she hissed.

Jaime frowned and pulled his hand away, hurt. “As you wish.”

They watched Gendry work, Jaime in silence while Aero often asked Gendry questions as he labored. She watched his clever hands closely. When he was in his element, he never fumbled. He was confident in his abilities and he moved fluidly through the steps without stumbling. She had never been very good at making armor. It didn’t interest her all that much, opting not to wear armor herself. She felt that it slowed her down.

.

They had spent the better part of the day at Mott’s watching Gendry. The heat was almost unbearable in the forge. Jaime had pulled at his armor and his long tunic more than once, feeling the sweat roll down his back. He was grateful to be back out in the air.

They were halfway to the Red Keep and Aero had yet to speak to him. She smiled at others when they looked at her and she greeted people. With Jaime, however, she was distant and refused to take his arm when he offered it to her.

“I’m sorry I offended you,” he apologized as they drew closer to the gates of the Keep. She remained silent, eyes forward, focused. He didn’t think it was in her nature to disregard a genuine apology so he tried again. “I’m sorry I offended the boy.”

“Gendry,” she snapped, correcting him for the second time that day.

Jaime squinted up into setting sun. “Right. Gendry. I shouldn’t have called him a bastard.”

“He is a bastard,” she stated simply, the bite taken out of her tone.

“But I thought…” Jaime narrowed his eyebrows and looked at her quizzically. “I’m not sure why you’re angry with me.”

She turned on him, stopping dead in the middle of the thankfully empty backstreet she had taken them down. 

“He was born a bastard. So what?” She threw her hands up, exasperated. “Does that mean his life—his name—is less important? Is he supposed to apologize for being born a bastard when he had no part in it?” She let her hands fall to her sides with a sigh. “You can’t be bothered to imagine that someone like him could be worth getting to know. That is why I’m angry, Jaime Lannister. You’ve been poisoned into believing that anyone below you is beneath your regard.” She gave him a sorrowful look that seemed to him more like pity than annoyance before she turned back and continued making her way to the looming Keep.

“You’re right,” he called out, jogging to catch up with her. His armor clanged together slightly as he ran. He reached her side and pulled lightly at her arm so that she would stop to look at him. She struggled to get out of his grasp, though she didn’t put that much effort into it. He held tight to her upper arms so that he made sure she was looking at him.

“You know who my father is,” he started. “I’ve grown up being told that people were made to be used and thrown away. It’s not something to be proud of.” His thin lips turned downward and his eyebrows drew together at the memories of his childhood with Tywin. “It’s not what I believe. But I saw you get tossed out of the way as easily as if you were a doll and my instinct was to protect you. Because that _is_ what I believe. I don’t know this boy—Gendry,” he corrected himself. “I don’t know his intentions. I just know that I don’t want you getting hurt.”

The pads of his thumbs drew soft circles near the end of her collarbone and it made her soften. She knew Jaime was trying to become a better man. But she couldn’t expect him to change overnight. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I don’t know that.”

She shrugged her shoulders and pulled his hands away from her arms. “I know he wouldn’t,” she stated with complete confidence. She slipped her hand in the bend of his elbow like they had walked before and she urged him forward with a small tug. He was content to let her lead.

“I’m going back tomorrow,” she said after they had walked a little farther. “I want to train with Valyrian steel and this might well be my only chance.”

“I’ll come with you,” he was quick to volunteer.

She shook her head. “No. I know my way now. And if it makes you feel better, I’ll have Evann walk with me. But I wouldn’t be able to get any work done with you hovering and worrying.”

The side of his mouth turned up into a smirk. “And if I insisted?”

“Insist all you’d like. You can ask Evann, my father, or any one of my three brothers how well that has worked out for them,” she laughed.

They passed through the first gate at the base of the Keep and Jaime watched Aero greet a small boy he didn’t recognize that was chasing after a loose ball. Aero stopped the ball with her foot and bent down to pick it up. The boy hesitated approaching them and looked back at his group of friends that were looking on with the same cautious expressions. She pulled away from Jaime and kneeled down to the boy’s height holding out the ball for him. The boy looked at the ball and back up at the queen. But then she smiled at the boy and his doubt seemed to vanish. He smiled back with a couple of teeth missing and playfully snatched the ball from her hand before running back to his friends.

.

Jaime purposely led her around the Keep corridors he knew would most likely be deserted trying to stretch out his time with her. _She must know,_ he thought to himself. But if she did, she graciously kept it to herself. They had reached a part of the Keep where no one had bothered to light the torches and the only light came from the fading light seeping in through the western windows.

“I have to ask you something,” he mused, slowing his pace. They were nearing her chambers but he hadn’t had the nerve to ask her what he wanted before then.

“Okay?”

“Why did you give me back my hand? I’ve done nothing to deserve your kindness.”

She smiled to herself expecting she would have to answer that question at some point. But it wouldn’t be this day. “Maybe I will tell you someday,” she replied coyly. “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe a week from now. Maybe when you are old and fat and happy living somewhere peaceful, you will happen upon a letter I have left for you.”

He felt himself smile at her evasion. “You don’t think I’ll be here fighting and dying in another man’s war?”

She shook her head and looked up at him. “No. You will die an old man far away from here.”

Jaime was taken aback at her matter-of-fact tone. He had considered leaving King’s Landing a few times over the years. King’s Landing, though, that was all that he had known for almost all of his adult life. He expected to die within the walls of the city either in battle or in defense of the king.

“Where will you be?” he asked unsure if she had meant that he would die in Eryatheia with her.

Aero’s smile faltered and she hesitated answering him. “I will be gone,” she breathed, relieved that she could finally tell someone this burden that had been weighing on her. “My time is short.”

Concerned, Jaime asked “Are you ill?” just as they reached the door to her chambers.

She pushed the door open and allowed him to step into the room after her. Someone had been thoughtful enough to build a fire in the hearth. “No. I don’t believe so. It’s just something I know.”

Jaime closed the door behind him and shook his head at her. “You can’t possibly know that.”

“I feel it.” She said it with such certainty, he didn’t refute her again.

She moved to stand next to the fire watching the flames dance though it was a warm night. He supposed she found comfort in the way flames made the light flicker as he did. “I can’t tell Evann,” she continued. “He would call me an idiot and tell me I’m being stupid. I can’t tell my father or my brothers. They’ve always been uneasy when it came to my abilities to use magic. I don’t know what they would say if I told them I could feel my own impending death.”

“Then why tell me?”

“Maybe I will tell you someday…” She smiled sadly and pulled her attention away from the fire to look up at him. “I’ve known for a while. Felt it coming for a while. Like watching the sun set and sky grow darker. I trust you wouldn’t betray my confidences.”

Her arms drew close around her as if she were cold and they shared a moment together where he grasped that she was trusting him with something so intimate she hadn’t even told those closest to her.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded. “I will keep your secret.”

“Would it be a horrible insult to take my dinner in my room tonight?” she asked suddenly feeling conscientious at being so open with another person that wasn’t Evann or her family.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I’ll make sure someone brings it up for you.”

“Thank you.”

He began to edge out of the room as she was taking off her shoes, but he stopped at the door and leaned back in the doorway. “Mott’s tomorrow. There’s no way I could get you to change your mind?”

She laughed at his persistence. “Not at all.” She kicked off her other shoe and met him in the doorway.

“You’ll carry your sword?” He lifted his hand as though he was about to touch her face, but thought better of it. Instead, he touched a loose curl and brushed it behind her shoulder.

Looking at the ground instead of his face, Aero could feel that his concern for her was genuine and it touched her that he cared for her though he barely knew her. She looked up to meet his eyes again. “Always,” she promised.

.

She didn’t expect any visitors that night. Already she had stripped away her dress, the small singed hole in the thigh beyond repair, and pulled on her nightshirt. Dinner was brought to her room and the same maid came back to retrieve the tray when she was finished. She looked out over the bay to see that her ship was still docked. The ship’s captain, Derrian, was probably waiting for the last few men to come aboard before he moved the ship out into the bay as he refused to remain docked overnight. Noting that nothing looked out of the ordinary, she sat and propped her feet up on what she was sure was a very expensive writing desk. She crossed her legs at the ankles and leaned back to read over the letter she had written to her oldest brother, Gentian, when there was a knock at her door.

Jaime, never a man known for his patience, pushed his way into the young queen’s chambers even before he heard her call “Enter!”

He saw her jump in surprise, the long legs that had been carelessly tossed over her desk jerked back as she made to stand.

Flustered, she ran a hand through her hair and pulled at the hemline of her nightshirt. “Forgive my nakedness, Ser Jaime,” she implored. “I thought you might have been Lady Margaery.”

Jaime’s throat closed for moment before he was able to speak, trying to push back the filthy thoughts running through his mind. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I’ve brought you a gift.”

His mouth broke into a wide grin as he pulled something from behind the door—not something, _someone_.

Aero’s eyes moved curiously from Jaime to the blond girl that he had pulled into her room. “You’ve brought me a person,” she countered, still perplexed.

Jaime closed the door so that they wouldn’t be overheard. There was no doubt that someone would be watching the comings and goings of the young queen’s chambers to report back to whomever they served.

Jaime pushed the scared blond girl farther into the room. “I’ve brought you a handmaiden,” he explained. “Lord Varys and his spies tell me that this is the young woman you healed at Littlefinger’s brothel.”

Aero recognized the girl as the one she had healed the day before. Her uncommonly beautiful face was thankfully free of any more bruises and her long blonde hair was tucked in a braided up-do at the back of her head. Aero nodded. “It is. Bet, are you well?”

The girl dipped into a small curtsy keeping her eyes downcast as Gendry had. “Very well, Your Grace, thank you.”

Aero wanted to reach out and reassure Bet that she was okay, but she still didn’t quite understand what was going on. “Does Lord Baelish know?”

Jaime shrugged. “I suggested that it would be in his best interest to stay on your good side.”

Aero quirked an eyebrow. “Suggested?”

“Strongly suggested,” he admitted, patting his sword. “I know you’re still getting used to our ways, but it is customary that highborn women have a handmaiden.”

“To do what?”

Jaime’s face screwed up in frustration. He didn’t understand how she could be so damn maddening when she didn’t mean to be. “Help them. With things. Like helping you dress, helping you bathe, emptying your chamber pot.”

There were plenty of staff working in the Vysrane ancestral castle, the Shimmering Stone, but Aero had never had a handmaiden. She didn’t recall her mother having one either. She can’t recall anyone taking a personal servant except visiting nobles from other lands. Aero considered Bet for a moment, weighing the options.

“If you’d rather not have me, I can go back,” Bet choked meekly, holding back tears. She hadn’t asked to be brought to the queen. The Kingslayer had found her and though he had been nothing but nice to her, she still didn’t fully trust him. She didn’t trust anyone that promised her better things. Hope didn’t exist in King’s Landing anymore. Not for her.

Bet made as if to leave and Jaime quickly reached to pull her back, pushing her in front of Aero. “As your handmaiden, she will live in the room across from you,” Jaime explained carefully. “She will never go hungry. Never need to sell herself. She will be safe. Here. With you.” Aero looked from Jaime to Bet and back to Jaime, her heart tightening in her chest. “…It’s a better life,” he breathed, locking eyes with Aero so that she might understand.

“Yes,” Aero nodded, reaching out for the girl. “Yes, of course, I’ll take you, Bet.” She pulled the girl to her and wrapped her in a hug. No longer able to hold back tears, Bet let the streams pour down her face as Aero kissed her and let her rest her forehead in the crook of Aero’s neck. “Shhh,” Aero soothed, petting the girl’s hair. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Jaime backed out of the room, giving them privacy. “Goodnight, Your Grace,” he said gently, then, remembering all that they had shared today, he corrected himself once more. “…Aero.”

“Goodnight, Jaime,” she replied with a soft smile.


End file.
